


Days Like These

by Elendraug



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-20
Updated: 2011-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 22,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendraug/pseuds/Elendraug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know what hope is? Hope is a bastard. Hope is a liar, a cheat and a tease." AU. What if Anders and Fenris had met in Tevinter? Inspired by the kinkmeme. Eventual slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, so uh. I never write chapter fic lolz. I'm also NOTORIOUSLY BAD about not finishing them, but this one was for a prompt on the kinkmeme:
>
>>   
>  __  
>  **Young Anders/Fenris**   
>  _Even though the timing and location makes NO SENSE, young Fenris and young Anders are on the run from their masters, and end up hiding together._
>> 
>> _Obviously, they have sex before parting ways. No hatesex, please. They don't know who each other are, and Fenris (maybe still "Leto") doesn't have a deep hatred of mages just yet. I just want to see Fenris and Anders bond, which would be otherwise impossible!_   
> 
> 
> Thusly, this story was born. We'll see how it goes, hurrp. I figure our guys are sixteen or so? Ish? I'm not used to doing any sort of prose in past tense so bear with me. 

The rocks on the side of the Imperial Highway dug sharply into his bare feet.

Leto had been running for at least an hour, his heart beating out of his chest in sheer terror. All it would take was one magister on the road to spot him and report him to the authorities, and he'd be someone's next blood sacrifice. All he wanted was to get away, to get some food. Was that so much to ask?

He sprinted out into the hot sand of Minrathous' coastline, the soles of his feet burning from the sun-scorched surface. Desperate, he glanced around for somewhere to hide. He couldn't go on any longer, not without a rest. The only shelter in sight was a craggly ruin on a cliffside, broken but still with an intact roof. Leto thanked Andraste for his luck and gave it a final rush, eager to get out of sight.

The afternoon light streamed in through the cracked walls, illuminating the rubble and debris inside. It would have to do, he supposed. Where else could he go?

Leto stepped cautiously into the building -- or what was left of it -- and allowed himself to sink to the floor. Eyes closed, he struggled to catch his breath, his lungs desperate for air. He didn't know how long he laid there, trying to think about anything but the hollow pain in his stomach.

It wasn't until he heard the faint sound of footsteps on the sand that he even realized he'd fallen asleep. With nothing but a paring knife to defend himself, Leto braced himself to attack the intruder quickly and then bolt for it. He knew better: fight or flight was hardly a difficult decision when you'd had nothing to eat for days.

A teenage boy entered the building, his face bloodied and bruised, and Leto hesitated for a moment too long. He saw in his expression the same overwhelming despair that haunted his nightmares.

It was just enough time for Anders to notice him and get the first strike.

"Who are you?" he demanded, eyes wide with fear. "Why are you here?"

Leto pressed his back against the crumbling wall and held out the knife in front of himself, a pathetic excuse of a weapon, but the only means of defense he had. "I don't want to fight you, but I will," he countered, ignoring the question. He hoped the other boy found him more intimidating than he felt.

Anders narrowed his eyes and raised a hand, flames dancing at his fingertips. "Get out of here, and I won't have to hurt you."

Leto balked, scrambling to get away, his arm fully extended to keep the knife between himself and Anders.

"Y-You're a mage!" he stammered, terrified for his life.

Anders scoffed. "You think?" He let the fire subside and crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you want with my hideout, anyway?"

Leto stared past him, trying to gauge whether he'd be able to escape if he ran for the door now. Didn't seem likely.

"Nobody was here when I found it," he countered, gradually rising to his feet. "I wasn't expecting a magister to be playing hide and seek here."

Scowling, Anders turned away. "I'm not playing!" he insisted. "And I'm... I'm not a magister, either."

That was unexpected. "So you shoot fireballs just for fun, then?"

Anders shook his head. "Shut up! You don't understand what it took to get away from them."

He had decided that the elf didn't pose much of a threat, and began to shuffle around with a small pile of junk in the corner of the building. There wasn't much, and definitely nothing of considerable value. Leto doubted it would be worth the effort to pawn it if he stole something while the mage wasn't looking.

They'd apparently reached some sort of unspoken truce, and Leto stowed his knife in his belt. He needed a better place to put it, somewhere that wouldn't accidentally gouge his thigh if he moved the wrong way.

Leto peered around the corner, glancing out at the abandoned shore, pleased to see that it was still empty. "So you're a mage, but not a magister," he said, unable to hide his confusion and mild amusement. "Why not?"

Anders' shoulders tensed, but he didn't turn around, and continued to sort his meager belongings. "I can't do blood magic."

Leto raised an eyebrow, but the mage couldn't see it. "You... can't do blood magic."

"Yes, I know. Go ahead and tell me how pathetic I am. I've never heard that one before."

Leto said nothing. There were very few mages in Tevinter who _didn't_ practice the so-called forbidden arts, and avoiding them was rarely by choice. To meet a mage who wasn't already using his powers to control the minds of his enemies was... strange, to say the least.

"I can't do it," he continued, despite the lack of response, "So my mentor was going to sell me off to someone else, make me a slave. I wasn't good enough as an apprentice." He pressed his lips into a thin line. "I ran away before he could find anyone with the gold to buy me."

That was equally unexpected. Leto turned to look at Anders, genuinely surprised. "You were going to be a slave?"

Anders shot him a look. "Did I stutter?"

Leto shook his head. "It's not that. I'm a slave, too. Or... I was." He stared down at his bare feet, grains of sand embedded beneath his toenails. "My master gave my mother and sister to a friend in Nevarra as a _gift_. I won't stay without them."

He kicked at a loose piece of rubble. "I'm going to find them."

Anders chewed his lip. The chances of this boy finding his family were slim at best. To find them alive and unharmed was even more unlikely.

"Yes, well... good luck with that."

He finished collecting his things into a small satchel and slung it over his shoulder. What followed was a simple wooden staff that had been propped against the corner of the ruin. It was worn down, and several of its decorative stones were missing from their sockets.

Without another word, he stepped out of the building and left Leto standing there, alone.

"Wait!" he called, immediately regretting that he'd raised his voice. He couldn't afford for anyone to find him -- elves wandering by themselves were easy targets, and instantly profiled as escaped slaves, true or not. "Where are you going?"

Anders looked at him over his shoulder, quizzically. "Away? Anywhere. I don't care."

Leto hesitantly followed him, wincing as the hot sand burned his feet. "Can I come with you?"

Anders tilted his head. "Why?"

Leto glanced off into the distance, as if he was intensely interested in the horizon. "I thought that since you don't have anywhere to go, maybe you'd help me track down my family."

Anders rolled his eyes. "Why the hell would I want to do that?"

Leto shot him a look. Was the mage truly that naïve? "So you won't be a moving target," he clarified. "So there's somebody to make sure no one kills you in your sleep. Because I can fight. And," he added, reaching into his pocket, and holding a gold coin aloft. "Because I stole this."

Anders gaped. "Where did you...?"

Leto pulled the coin back and extended his free hand. "Deal?"

Anders eyed the coin hungrily, and took the elf's hand. "Deal."

Leto smiled. "Let's go, then."

\-------

 _You know what hope is? Hope is a bastard. Hope is a liar, a cheat, and a tease.  
Hope comes near you, kick its backside, got no place in days like these._

\- ben folds & nick hornby, "picture window"

  


illustration by [Gone-Batty](http://gone-batty.deviantart.com/art/Commission-Leto-and-Anders-210095098) ♥


	2. Chapter 2

They needed to leave the Imperium as quickly as they could. Although Anders would be an apostate as soon as they crossed into any land ruled by the _other_ Chantry, they were in far more danger as two escaped slaves.

"We can pretend I'm your master," Anders suggested, only halfway joking.

"Maybe if you looked the part." With the mundane robes and a staff that looked like it'd been fashioned from driftwood, he wasn't fooling anyone.

Anders had packed a meager amount of dried meat -- mutton, perhaps, they weren't sure -- and a largish wedge of cheese. Although a gold coin would be able to buy them plenty of food if they wished, neither of them were foolish enough to flash such a thing in the cesspit markets they passed through. Spending such coin in the nicer parts of town would garner just as much unwanted attention, and put them at risk of being discovered by their masters' contacts.

It wasn't worth it.

Leto was used to going hungry, having spent his entire life in slavery. Anders, however, was crossing his arms over his empty stomach more frequently. The elf felt sorry for him, but then, the mage had had the fortune to eat well up until now. Leto's cheeks were hollow, his muscles lacking definition from malnutrition. It had become par for the course.

"I'm starving!" Anders moaned, hunched over himself as they walked. He glanced to his companion, desperate. "I can't go on like this!"

Leto felt a pang of pity for the other boy, but he quickly dismissed it. "You don't know what it means to starve," he said, deadpan. "Besides, we can't stop until we get to Asariel. You're the one who keeps bitching about someone recognizing you."

"Well, excuse me for not being an elf," he snapped.

Leto sighed. Anders' hunger was making him even more intolerable than usual. "I suppose you're the one who'll carry around the pile of silvers, then?" he asked. "Since it won't make us a target."

Anders glared at him, and debated whether it was worth setting his hair on fire. He wisely decided against it. "We have to eat _something_ ," he insisted. "And unless you plan to resort to cannibalism, that involves us stopping for a meal."

Leto had no choice but to relent. They weren't going to make it much further like this, anyway; there was hardly any shelter along this stretch of the coast. Although entering a town would pose its own problems, sleeping out in the open was hardly a better option.

"Fine. Next tavern we pass, we'll stop."

It took another two hours of endless walking and Anders' complaining before they came upon a tiny fishing village. It hardly passed for a village, honestly, with only a handful of homes scattered near the docks. It was not the sort of place one could pay for a night's stay with a sovereign and go unnoticed.

Leto wasn't even sure the place would have the change to break it.

Anders was dragging his feet by the time they entered the tavern, and Leto reluctantly grabbed his arm and tugged him along. As a mage -- and a human -- he needed Anders to be one to make their purchases. Fortunately, his charm and wit were still about him, despite his exhaustion. He stepped up to the counter without hesitation.

"I need a room and a meal for me and my slave," he said, standing up straight and plunking down the sovereign, sliding it across the countertop with a single finger. "I do not wish to be disturbed."

The innkeeper picked up the coin skeptically, scrutinizing it in the dim light. Anders was young, too young and too rattily dressed to be carrying this sort of money around. It was legitimate, however, and there was no reason to refuse them service.

"All right, then," he said, handing Anders a drawstring pouch with his change in silver. "Give us a minute."

Anders shot Leto a quick smirk, impressed with himself. He'd never had cause nor funds to buy himself a stay in a tavern before. Leto knew better than to smile back at his supposed master in public, however, and kept his expression grim.

The innkeeper let his hand hover over a row of keys and finally selected one, hooking it over a finger before giving it to Anders. "Third door on the left, ser."

Anders nodded to him, and led the way up the stairs. He supposed they'd bring some food eventually, but he hoped it would be sooner than later. The stairs creaked on the way up, but the door to the room was solid, and the locks worked. If the mattress was free of bugs, he'd call it a rousing success.

"I kind of want to die," he muttered, dumping his things unceremoniously on the floor before dropping face-first onto the bed. "I have sand in places I don't even want to think about."

Leto snickered. "You can't die, _master._ I need someone to serve, after all."

Anders nuzzled into the pillow and exhaled deeply, his eyes closed. "If you want to start by picking all the sand out of this robe, I wouldn't object to it."

He laughed again. When had he started laughing so much? "Not particularly likely, Anders."

Anders made a noncommittal noise, and Leto was left to his own devices. For lack of another bed, he curled up on a large chair, his back twisted a bit awkwardly so he could lean his head on the plush arm. It was impossible to truly get comfortable, though, and by the time he'd found a reasonably acceptable position, there was a knock on their door.

Leto heaved himself up and went to answer it. A dismal-looking elf presented him with a tray of food and gave him a long, empathetic look before shuffling away. For all she knew, Leto was still a slave, too.

He set the tray down on a side table, careful not to spill anything. The elven girl had brought them a tureen of stew and a small loaf of honeyed bread. The food wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but to two hungry boys -- one of whom was used to getting scraps at best -- it was a feast fit for kings.

Anders had extracted himself from the bed as soon as the enticing smells had hit his nose. He eagerly served himself some stew, ignoring Leto's glare for going first. Within seconds he was wolfing it down, hardly pausing to breathe.

"Don't eat so fast," Leto warned, frowning. "You'll make yourself sick."

"Why do you care?" Anders mumbled, his mouth full. "M'hungry."

Leto huffed. "When you're vomiting later, don't say I didn't warn you."

Anders shrugged and continued shoveling the stew into his mouth, stopping only to help himself to some of the bread.

Leto took his time, eating what seemed a meager amount compared to the portion Anders had taken. He knew better than to gorge himself with his stomach so shrunken from hunger. He didn't even take any of the bread, instead opting to stow it in Anders' satchel. They'd appreciate it more when they were desperate again.

Anders finished his meal and lay back down on the bed, turning over a few times before sitting up to shrug out of his cloak. "Damn sand everywhere," he mumbled, tossing the cloak onto the floor.

Leto made sure the tureen was properly covered, fully intending to eat the leftovers for breakfast, and triple-checked that they'd securely locked the door. He was half tempted to shove some heavy furniture in front of the door, just in case, but there wasn't much available that would do the trick.

Speaking of furniture.

"I want the bed," he announced, annoyed that Anders had decided to hog it.

"What? No. I'm already in it."

Leto stood beside the bed, looming over him. As an elf, it was a fairly tricky thing to accomplish, but he managed. "Then get out of it. It's my coin that paid for this, you'll remember."

Anders squinted up at him for a long moment, then reluctantly shifted to the far edge of the bed to make room. He kept his back to the elf, grumbling something incoherent.

Surprised, Leto licked his fingertips and snuffed out the candle on the nightstand. If there was one good thing about traveling with a mage, it was that lighting a fire was never a problem.

He climbed into the bed, lying on top of the blankets rather than under them with Anders. It would be too strange.

Neither of them said goodnight.


	3. Chapter 3

It was some ungodly hour when Leto woke with a start, his heart hammering away. He sat up straight, reaching to the nightstand to secure his pitiful knife.

"Open up!"

A heavy fist pounded on the door so hard it rattled on its hinges.

"We know that ain't your slave! Get out here!"

Leto grabbed Anders' shoulder, jostling him roughly. "Wake up! You have to wake up!"

Anders' eyes flew open and he stared up at the elf, thoroughly confused. "What? Why?"

Leto inclined his head towards the door. "Someone is eager to see us."

Anders swung his legs over the side of the bed and began to pull his boots back on. "Shit."

It was a distinctly inappropriate time to quip an 'I told you so,' but Leto couldn't help but dwell on how much he'd expected this. Two teenagers showing up with gold, posing as a magister and his slave... any idiot could see through that ruse.

"We have to go," he urged. " _Now._ "

"Maker's breath, I'm going!" Anders muttered, slinging his satchel over his shoulder. "I just woke up, you know."

Leto narrowed his eyes. Clearly this boy had rarely feared for his life. As a slave, as an _elf_ , he was all too familiar with the feeling.

Ignoring Anders' petulance, he shook the pillowcase free from its pillow and began to fill it with as many moderately valuable items as he could. He would normally be above stealing, but desperate times... well. They needed it more than the innkeeper. The stew tureen would be difficult to carry without making a mess, but he was completely unwilling to leave any food behind. They had to take every morsel they could get.

Leto stripped the bed of its linens and fashioned quick knots with deft hands, securing the makeshift rope to the bedpost for leverage. He glanced to Anders, who was fiddling with the clasp on his cloak, and barely resisted slapping the shit out of him.

"Hurry up!" he hissed. The men outside were jostling the doorknob, and it was only a matter of time before someone kicked their way in, or convinced the innkeeper to turn over a spare key. Returning an escaped slave could bring in quite the reward from a magister, and no doubt every one of them had their sights set on just that.

Anders fastened his staff to his back and slung his satchel over his shoulder. "You go first," he said, remarkably calm given the situation. "I'll stall for time."

If it came down to it, Leto was in this for himself. He had no qualm about exiting first. Surely they'd want him dead more than a mage apprentice who was a bit of a brat.

He nodded to Anders and wasted no time easing himself out the window, gripping onto the sill and bracing his bare feet against the exterior wall. The pillowcase clunked against his legs as he climbed down, and he knew his belt wouldn't support the weight much longer. If he made it to the ground without stew spilling on all his things, it'd be a miracle.

Anders focused, trying his best to remember his apprentice training. He hadn't studied long enough to learn many spells, and those he'd gotten the hang of he didn't practice near as often as he should. Despite this, he managed to cast both a fairly effective glyph and an obnoxious hex to slow them all down. They didn't need the men dead; they just needed a headstart.

Once his magic was in place, Anders followed the elf out the window, his boots sturdier in aiding his descent.

"Wait up!" he shouted, fear beginning to seize him. "Leto, wait!"

But Leto had begun running as fast as his legs could carry him the instant he'd hit the ground, and had disappeared off into the scrub brush somewhere. Anders found himself horribly alone, and nearly lost his grip on the sheet-rope when he heard the door crash down in the room above.

"There he goes!"

"Blighter's in for some rough luck when we catch him!"

Anders was halfway down the building, struggling to support his own weight - mages were not known for upper body strength - when the rope gave way from above. He yelped loudly and crashed to the ground, his staff cracking between the earth and his back.

The impact completely winded him, and he stared up at the night sky, dizzy and aching. He could hardly move.

"Leto!" he shrieked, gasping for breath. "Help me!"

One of the men in the bedroom was now leaning out the window, an arrow notched to the bowstring and ready to let it fly. Anders scrabbled backward, his fingernails digging into the loose dirt as if it'd somehow pull him away from all this if he clawed hard enough.

He screwed his eyes shut and braced for an arrow piercing his chest, but the attack never came.

A whistling noise cut through the night air, and there was a scream and a dull, thudding sound, and then nothing else.

Anders stared up at the tavern window, his pulse racing, frozen to the spot. Time stood still until a rough hand gripped his cloak and hefted him to his feet, nearly choking him in the process.

"Anders! Get off your stupid ass and _run!_ "

Anders stared at Leto, eyes wide in total shock, and stumbled for a moment before obeying very carefully. He snatched up the remains of the wooden staff and darted after him, and didn't stop running until they were deep into the forest.

"He was going to _kill_ me!"

Leto leaned back against a tree trunk, his arms folded across his chest. "Yes, he was."

He fumbled with the broken halves of the staff, trying to fit them back together for a few frustrating minutes before tossing the thing onto the ground. "He had an arrow ready to take me out! I could've died!"

Leto had spent much of his life fearing for it, and although Anders' reaction was understandable, they couldn't afford to make a scene right now. Who knew if those bastards were still trying to hunt them down? This level of commotion was highly unnecessary.

"You need to calm down," he said, watching him levelly.

"Calm down?" Anders repeated, scoffing in disbelief. "Calm down? After I was almost shot through the head? I'd like to see you--"

Leto took a step forward and clapped his hand over Anders' mouth, effectively silencing him.

"Listen closely, Anders, because I'm only going to say this once." He stared him down, his brow furrowed with his own fear. "You could've died. We both could've died. _We didn't._ "

He grabbed Anders' chin and turned his head to look in the direction of the town they'd fled. "If you keep shouting and bitching, they'll find us and we will actually die. I suggest you spend less time worrying for your life, and more time remembering that I saved it."

With that he let go, and stalked off further into the forest. He'd set down the pillowcase somewhere in the woods, and needed to find it before some animal ran off with the remnants of their food.

Stunned, Anders simply blinked at him as he walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

"You can't drink that."

Anders frowned, and glanced back to Leto. "It's water. I'm thirsty. Why the hell not?"

"Perhaps you can, but it doesn't mean you should." Leto rolled his eyes. "Honestly, have you ever been outside before now?"

Anders stared at him blankly. "I don't go stomping around in the wilderness, if that's what you're getting at."

It was like explaining the Chant of Light to a nug. Leto pointed a bony finger towards the hazy, greyed outline of buildings in the distance. "Every chamber pot in that city is flowing downstream towards us right now. Still think it looks refreshing?"

Anders pursed his lips and stood back up, eyeing the stream warily. The guy was right; the sparkling clean water didn't seem so attractive anymore.

"You'd think you were Dalish, for all you know about this woodsy stuff," he remarked, falling back into step beside the elf as they continued on their way.

Leto made a face. "Please. I'd rather be sent to Aeonar." He kicked at a fallen stick, irritated when the smaller branches spindling off it caught on his toes. "Those people can't accept that the past is gone."

Anders smirked. "Don't care much for Arlathan, then?" he asked. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you weren't an elf at all."

Leto rolled his eyes. "And I suppose all you want to talk about is how your ancestors named the darkspawn?"

"That was my great aunt Hildegard, actually."

Leto quirked an eyebrow, skeptical. "You're full of shit."

Anders shook his head, staring back at him for a long moment before he burst out laughing. "Yeah, I am."

"Sometimes, I'm really not sure I understand you."

"Really? Are my superior human intellect and magical charm too much for you?"

Leto smacked him on the arm, but smiled a bit anyway.

Their travels had been slow going, hampered by their inability to stay on the Imperial Highway. Picking out a route through the scrub brush and knotted forests made the journey rougher than it could've been, but they couldn't afford to risk discovery by one of the many caravans taking the main roads. Their run-in with the opportunistic thugs in that lonely fishing town had been bad enough, and neither of them wanted a repeat performance.

Anders had managed to buy a gently used tent from some merchants they'd passed a few days back, and just by virtue of having guaranteed shelter, their morale had improved tremendously. Every night, Leto volunteered to take first watch. Anders was unreliable when he was tired, and it was simply easier to let him rest first.

The tureen from the tavern had been the best thing they'd stolen, as it had allowed Leto to cook them relatively palatable meals from otherwise abhorrent ingredients. The inner bark of a particular tree, the greens from another plant, the seeds of a third: constant, dire hunger had taught him at a young age to make use of the resources around him. He'd greatly regretted losing the paring knife back at the tavern conflict; the best they had now was a ceremonial dagger Anders had been meant to use for blood magic, and it was worth more if they kept it intact than if it snapped hacking away at a sapling.

The second-best thing they'd stolen was the lightly-seasoned salt that'd been served with their meal. Its value was precious beyond words, and kept them both (but mostly Anders) from wanting to scream at the monotony of their diet. There was so little to be had, that there was no option but to use it sparingly. More often than not, Leto flavored Anders' food but left his own bland and uninteresting. He was already accustomed to staving off hunger with food that was edible but not much else.

The evening found Leto keeping watch outside their tent, his back to the flap, hunched over to ward against the wind. Anders didn't snore, thank the Maker, but the night was so disturbingly quiet that Leto could still hear his breathing. He'd hardly seen any animals whatsoever, and it was fortunate for the poor beasts, too. He would've gladly made a meal of anything they spotted.

Leto used a stick to poke at the dying embers of the fire, stoking them just enough to keep them warm. Eventually it would die out, but for now it mildly entertaining. He didn't enjoy being left alone with his thoughts, and this was a simple distraction.

Besides, if he didn't focus on the fire, he'd have nothing to do but listen to Anders sleep.

He glanced back over his shoulder. The boy slept like the bleeding dead. And why not? He'd spent years in a warm bed, no doubt, with a full stomach and clean linens. What reason would he have to be constantly on edge, afraid of an unbidden attack even in the middle of the night, in his own home? He was far luckier than he realized.

Leto scoffed. It was difficult not to hold these things against the mage. He'd never realized how good he had it until it was all pulled out from under him. Leto, on the other hand, had hit rock bottom and more or less stayed there.

There was a noise behind him, and the elf turned his head to see the vague silhouette of Anders shuffling around in the tent. He was mumbling to himself, probably complaining about something or another, and certainly didn't think that Leto could hear him.

Leto smirked. "You're awake," he noted.

The silhouette perked up, and Anders' head poked out of the tent flaps. "Yeah. Sort of."

Leto handed him the stick, which was now thoroughly charred at the end. "I got you a new staff."

"Wow, this is just like the Archon has!" Anders took it, feigning admiration and overwhelming gratitude. "I can't ever thank you enough!"

Leto chuckled a little. "Yes, well. You can start by letting me sleep."

Anders prodded him in the ribs with the stick. "Then go. I'll move."

The mage reluctantly exited the tent, and gradually rose to his feet. He stretched, yawning widely, and paced around the camp for a bit. If he was going to truly stay awake, he had to keep moving until his body caught up with his brain.

Once Anders was out of the way, Leto pulled back the flap and crawled into the tent. They only had one blanket to speak of, but it was still warm from where Anders had laid just moments before. He settled himself down, curling up beneath the covers and thanking the Maker for their pillow. For now, this much was enough, but as they ventured further south they were going to have to start using Anders' cloak, or spend precious coin to invest in something more substantial.

The blanket and pillow both smelled like Anders, which admittedly was a bit ripe from days of walking without a bath. Leto inhaled deeply, holding his breath for a quiet moment before sighing just as deeply. He curled a fist into the blanket and drew it against his chest, and within minutes, he was fast asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violence against animals in this chapter. Just sayin'.

It wasn't quite dawn when Leto groggily opened his eyes, confused by the lack of light around him. The first bits of sunrise glowed pink on the horizon, but thick, grey stormclouds obscured the sight.

He rolled onto his back and nearly jumped when he saw Anders sitting cross-legged beside him in the tent.

"What are you doing?" he asked, more than slightly unsettled that his privacy had been invaded during his sleep.

"Sitting," Anders replied, matter-of-factly.

"I hadn't noticed."

Anders smirked, his hands folded lazily in his lap. "It's about to rain," he explained. "I didn't want to get wet."

Leto sighed and slowly sat up, shifting so that his knee wouldn't smack into Anders' any more than was absolutely necessary. The tent wasn't really wide enough for two people unless they were practically occupying the same space.

"We can't lie around here all day, you know."

Anders shrugged. "I'm not opposed to it."

Leto quirked an eyebrow. "I wasn't giving you a choice."

The elf wormed his way out of the blankets and climbed out of the tent, glancing around at the burnt remains of their campfire and the morning fog. It would be difficult to keep track of where they were going, if they managed to travel at all in this. Even without the impending thunderstorm, they'd have to wait for the day to warm up and clear this out.

"Did you eat yet?" he asked, looking over his shoulder to the tent.

Anders leaned out just enough to shake his head 'no,' then promptly returned to the shelter. He wasn't about to get rained on for nothing.

Leto bent down to stretch his legs, his muscles cramped from lying on the hard ground for hours. Frankly, he was grateful just to have someone else looking out for him while he was asleep, regardless of where he was resting. All too often he'd only been able to rely on himself. You couldn't watch your own back while unconscious.

A quick look through their packs revealed that they were running dangerously low on food. The bread and cheese were completely gone, consumed days ago. All they had left was a few strips of dried meat and the seasoning salt. It was enough to chew on for a while, to trick their stomachs into calming, but not nearly sufficient to end the constant, hollow ache. If there was any time to go hunting, it was now.

Leto departed silently from the camp. Calling back to Anders would just scare away whatever small game might be lurking nearby, and what was the point? The mage could take care of himself for a bit.

He walked a fair distance away, his bare feet keeping him almost imperceptibly quiet in the forest. His large elven eyes gave him a slight advantage to seeing in the dim light, his pointed ears more easily attuned to listening for faint sounds. How humans managed to catch anything at all, he had no idea. They were all so damned clumsy and loud, stomping around everywhere. Just like Anders and those ridiculous boots. Just like Anders, who never shut his mouth.

It was something of a relief to be alone for a time. Leto found a sense of peace in the stillness around him, and smiled to himself. When was the last time he'd been able to enjoy a walk, without worrying about returning to his master's estate in time? When was the last time he'd even been permitted to pause his duties for simple leisure?

He was broken from his reverie when a twig snapped nearby. On his guard, Leto followed the sound, intensely focused. Without any weapons, he'd have to catch any prey with his bare hands. It'd be a matter of luck more than skill.

A rabbit hopped into view, frozen in its tracks and regarding Leto warily, looking at him sidelong as if to pretend it hadn't seen him. Leto stared back, his legs tensed and ready to propel him forward. He had one chance. One chance, or they might not eat today.

The rabbit moved forward, just an inch, its nose twitching as it sniffed the air. Leto didn't give it another opportunity to run.

He threw himself forward, his fingers snaring around the rabbit's hind leg. It struggled, kicking frantically as it tried to escape, and managed to sink its teeth into his hand. Leto shouted in pain but refused to relinquish his grip, instead yanking the animal backward and quickly snapping its neck.

He sat on the forest floor, gradually catching his breath, and smirked triumphantly at the kill. They'd have stew tonight, even if it took all day to prepare.

Leto returned to their camp, proud of his success. A light drizzle had started up, and he made a beeline for the tent, pushing back the flap and depositing the rabbit's limp carcass in the corner.

"Ugh!" Anders shouted, disgusted. "Don't bring that in here!" He spoke as if Leto was an errant dog who'd just shown up with a poorly chosen 'present' for its owner.

"A 'thank you' would also suffice," he remarked.

Anders scowled at him. "What did that bunny do to you? Wasn't he just minding his own business?"

Leto gave him a look. "I take it you intended to eat dirt and leaves for dinner?"

Anders glanced away. "Well, no, but--"

"Then you can feel free to stop complaining."

There was an awkward silence as Leto took Anders' ceremonial knife and began to skin and dress the rabbit. Anders watched dismally until the elf started to hack off the animal's head.

"Sweet Andraste, that is just..." He covered his eyes and shoved his way past Leto, exiting the tent despite the rain. Leto could vaguely hear him vomiting over the noise of the storm.

The mage returned a short while later, soaked to the bone, spittle clinging to his mouth from dry heaving.

"You can't afford to lose anything you've eaten," Leto chastised. "You need to keep your strength."

Anders glared at him, unable to watch him cut the rabbit apart. "I didn't intend to witness any butchering up close today," he grumbled.

Leto glanced at him, and the boy looked so miserable and nauseous, it was pitiful. "You're going to eat a good meal tonight and wish you hadn't complained about it. I promise you that."

As if on cue, Anders' stomach growled its disappointment. He stared down at his feet angrily.

In sympathy, Leto started to reach over to wipe away the sick from his mouth, but Anders smacked his hand away.

"Don't touch me," he snapped. "You're covered in blood."

Leto sighed. Nothing he said was going to placate him at this point.

"Do you want me to finish this outside?" he asked, relenting.

Anders looked at him, surprised that it was even being offered. "Yeah, actually. Please do that."

Leto nodded, and collected the remains in the tureen. He'd stash the pelt somewhere so they could sell it later for a few coppers, maybe even a silver if the rain didn't ruin it. He carried the rabbit away from the camp to dispose of its entrails, then cut up the meat into bite-sized chunks for the stew. He let the storm rinse off his hands as best as he could, and set about adding whatever meager ingredients he could come up with to pad their meal.

By the time he was ready to start cooking their food, the rain had let up somewhat. He leaned down to peer into the tent.

"I need your help to light a fire."

Anders glanced up at him and stopped whatever he'd been doing, which was apparently casting electricity spells on various parts of the blanket. The tassels at its corners stood on end, frayed and full of a pulsing charge. Once Anders lost his focus, however, they dropped to the ground as they should.

He followed the elf back outside and frowned at the pile of muck that had been their fire pit. "What do you intend for me to light?" he asked, unimpressed. "Even magic isn't going to keep that soggy shit burning."

Leto blinked at him, confused. "I thought you could... I don't know. You can't dry it out?"

Anders huffed. "There's only so much I can do."

He waited patiently as the elf stacked up a respectable amount of loose sticks and twigs on top of a larger, thicker branch. It wasn't a log, exactly, but it'd have to suffice for the time being. Anders knelt down beside the firewood and poised his hands over it, letting sparks fly from his fingers. He bit his tongue, and a burst of flame radiated forth from his palms.

The wood was stubborn, but after a few moments of effort, it began to burn with wet, heavy smoke. Anders coughed to clear his throat, and waved away as much of it as he could.

Leto was pleased to see that it'd worked. For all he knew of magic -- which, admittedly, was very little -- the most basic trick of all was to light a fire. If a mage couldn't even do that much, what use were they?

He nudged the tureen close to the fire, but not quite touching it. He didn't know how much heat the container could withstand, and they had all day to wait around in this nasty weather while the meat cooked. They weren't going to make any progress towards Nevarra today.

"What happened to your hand?"

Leto looked up, not expecting the question. "Huh?"

"Your hand," Anders repeated, pointing. "What's wrong with it?"

"Oh." He lifted his arm to show the mage, shrugging. "The rabbit bit me."

Anders gave him an irritated look. "You deserved it."

The elf scowled, and was about to remind him once again that the rabbit's death was the reason he'd be eating tonight, but the words died before he could speak them. Anders took his hand and stared down at the wound, his fingertips ghosting just above the broken skin. A wave of cool energy flowed into the tissue, and within seconds all signs of the injury were gone. There wasn't even a scar.

Leto stared at him, wide-eyed, and pulled his hand away as if he'd touched a hot stove.

Anders sighed, annoyed. "You're welcome."

Leto shook his head, ashamed of himself. "No, it's just... I've..." He looked at Anders helplessly, feeling very out of his element. "No one's ever used magic to heal me before. Thank you."

Anders raised both eyebrows in surprise. "Really? What do you do when you're sick?"

"Stay sick, generally."

"Oh." It took him a few seconds to process this; the very notion of _not_ using magic whenever possible was a foreign concept, just as strange as paragons or aravels. "Well, not anymore, right?"

Leto laughed awkwardly. "Ah... no, I suppose not." He turned away and moved to fiddle with the tureen, turning it so that all the meat would cook evenly.

Anders shuffled around for a bit, not quite sure what to do with himself. "I'm gonna go lie down," he announced at last, "While I still can, you know? Wake me up when it's ready."

Leto nodded, but kept his gaze fixed on the fire.


	6. Chapter 6

"Food's ready."

Anders stirred slightly, not ready to get up just yet. It felt like he'd barely fallen asleep. The nagging pang of his empty stomach, however, was more than enough incentive to wake up.

Leto watched him as his eyes fluttered open, blinking blearily up at the elf before he seemed to remember where he was and why.

"Don't want it," he mumbled, burying his face in his arm.

Leto knelt down in the tent and hesitated before laying a callused hand on the mage's arm. "You need to eat," he insisted. "And this is all we have."

Anders tensed beneath his touch, and shot him a dark look. "And if someone asked you to eat a cat, would you?"

"If I was starving in the woods?"

Anders glowered, horrified. "I should've known better than to ask."

He knew that Leto was right, as much as it sickened him to think of it. If they had nothing tonight, instead of the rabbit, would that honestly be better? He was cold, exhausted, and still soaked from the rain. He didn't need to add 'refusing food out of sheer stubbornness' to the list.

Leto offered a hand to help him stand up, but Anders didn't take it.

"There's still blood under your fingernails," he muttered.

Leto pulled away and said nothing.

The stew was hot but not scalding, and they took turns spooning it out of the tureen. With no bowls and only one spoon, it was very uncomfortable, and they ate in silence. Leto felt like he had as a child, with his family and the other slaves eating out of a communal dish, everyone's grubby hands reaching for the same scraps.

Anders chewed the meat as if it was poison, its taste ash on his tongue, clay in his throat. He barely managed to swallow any of it without wanting to be sick.

"This is awful," he said quietly, a bitter note of resentment in his voice.

Leto looked at him for a long moment. "You... you get used to it, after a while."

Anders stood up abruptly and kicked over the tureen, spilling the precious stew into the sodden ground. "I don't _want_ to get used to this!" he shouted, miserable. "I hate it! I hate _you!_ I never should've left!"

He stalked off into the woods despite the storm, despite the darkness. Leto quickly righted the tureen in an attempt to save anything still clinging to the inside, and watched as Anders stomped away. He'd give him a minute to calm down, and then go after him. Following so soon would only antagonize him.

In all honesty, Leto should've seen this coming from miles away. The mage had never left the comforts of city life before, never been without feather pillows and three meals a day. It was too much to expect him to adapt so quickly, but what other options did they have? Anders couldn't have expected to spend his life on the run dining well and staying in pleasant inns, could he? It just wasn't realistic.

Leto piled some more wood on the fire and grabbed the ceremonial knife before leaving the camp. He didn't want them to be defenseless if someone tried to attack them while offguard.

For what may have been the first time, he wished he was wearing actual shoes. The forest floor had Maker knows what crawling around on it, and he didn't need to be tending to a snakebite on top of everything else. In the pitch blackness, he had no way to tell what he might accidentally step on, and it made him nervous.

Leto scanned the area, straining his eyes in an attempt to spot the mage. No luck.

"Anders?" he called, trying to keep his voice fairly low. "Anders, where'd you go?"

His head whipped around as he heard a small sound to his left, and he stepped slowly toward it. He knew what was happening before he saw it.

Anders was sitting in a pile of sodden leaves, his knees to his chest, shivering and crying. Leto could tell he was struggling to stay quiet, but with limited success.

"Sod off," he snarled. "I don't want to talk to you."

Leto took another step forward, anyway. "You're going to make yourself sick."

Anders wiped at his face with his cloak, which was still wet from the rain and therefore didn't do much to help. "Just leave me alone."

Leto stood next to him for a moment before leaning back against the damp bark of the tree. "I can't do that," he said, almost conversationally. "It's not safe to be out here by yourself."

Anders rolled his eyes and sniffed back mucus. "And what are you going to do? Fight off a bear with that spoon?" He laughed darkly. "There's nothing special you can do that my magic can't."

"Does your magic feed you, then?" he asked, irritated with Anders' petulance. "Does your magic keep thieves away from the tent while you're asleep?"

Anders glared at him in the darkness. "There weren't any thieves."

"Not that you ever knew of."

Anders balked. If the elf was telling the truth -- and he always was -- then that certainly put things in perspective. "I... I didn't...."

"Of course you didn't."

Anders looked up at him, wounded. He felt like a scolded child.

"Now stop being so damned ungrateful and come back to the camp." Leto pushed away from the tree and began to retrace his steps. He didn't spare the mage a second glance.

Who did Leto think he was, bossing him around like that? If this were anywhere else but the middle of the Maker-forsaken forest, the situation would be quite the opposite! Anyone watching would be horrified to hear an elf speaking to a human -- a mage! -- with such disrespect.

Anders sulked by himself for a while longer, until the rain picked back up and not even the thick foliage above could shield him from the downpour. He growled out his frustration to the woods around him, and stomped back towards the camp. By the time he reached the tent, he was thoroughly drenched, and at least half of him was covered in mud.

Leto glanced up at him with a wry smile. "Perhaps next time you'll think before running off during a thunderstorm."

Anders fixed him with a glare, but didn't have the strength to think of a proper retort. To his great surprise, the elf offered him the tureen, cleaned of stew and now filled with an aromatic, hot liquid.

"How did you make tea?"

Leto grinned at him. "Red clover."

Anders took a long drink of it, desperately needing the warmth. He was chilled to the bone. It was sweet, maybe a bit minty, and altogether not unpleasant. He licked his lips and handed the tureen back to Leto, who sipped at it thoughtfully.

The mage sat down at the entrance to the tent, shivering like a nug in the Anderfels. He wanted to hang his clothes to dry, but the fire had long since been doused by the rain, and there was nowhere to put them, anyway. Instead, he simply curled his arms around himself beneath his cloak, and tried not to let his teeth chatter too much.

He gradually fell into an uneasy sleep. Leto didn't wake him until morning.


	7. Chapter 7

"I have a surprise for you."

Anders cracked an eye open to look at Leto, who was hovering over him expectantly.

"What?" He was still soggy and uncomfortable, and knew there was no way he'd be able to get back to sleep at this point. The sun had finally come out, and the warmth was making the humidity unbearable. "Did something happen?"

Leto shook his head. "No. I've decided we're going to walk along the Imperial Highway."

Anders sat up and pushed Leto's shoulder, forcing him to back up. "I thought that was too dangerous."

"Not any more than starving in the woods."

Anders wasn't buying it. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

Leto simply looked at him for a minute, hesitant. What could he say to that? That he felt sorry for Anders, who'd never gone to bed with an empty stomach until now? That he didn't want to pressure him into eating any more wildlife? That he didn't want to argue with him over stupid -- or not so stupid -- details anymore?

"You're... not getting enough rest. I don't trust you not to nod off during your watch."

Anders scowled at him. "This is your good news? You wake me up to insult me?"

Leto glanced away. "Look, regardless--"

"No, _you_ look!" Anders snapped, interrupting him. "I can't exactly prove my merit if you won't get me up for my shift, now can I?"

Leto narrowed his eyes. "It wasn't that. I was letting you sleep."

Anders scoffed. "Because you're underestimating me, because I'm a mage. And mages can't help with physical labor at all! Not unless it's lighting a damned campfire. That's all I'm good for!"

He shoved Leto out of the way and grabbed his satchel and the broken halves of his staff before exiting the tent. "Get some bloody matches!"

Leto rubbed at his forehead. This was not turning out the way he'd hoped, to say the least.

He followed the other boy and found him collecting the ragtag items around the campsite. Without saying anything, Leto began to disassemble the tent, and wondered whether the ashes from the fire pit were worth saving. Someone desperate might use them to make soap, but the measly selling price didn't merit the effort.

Leto had just finished with the tent when he realized that Anders was no longer in sight. His heavy boots left tracks in the mud that were painfully easy to follow, however, and Leto soon caught up to him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"I'm paying for a ride to Asariel," Anders said, flippantly waving a dismissive hand at him. "I've had enough of this bullshit."

Leto glared at him. "With _my_ money?"

Anders laughed harshly. "You seem perfectly content to eat twigs and rocks. What do you need it for?"

The mage had barely turned to sneer something else at him when Leto's fist connected with his nose, the shock of the impact knocking him flat on his ass. He lifted a hand to his nose and stared down in confusion at the blood on his fingertips.

"You... you punched me!"

Leto crossed his arms over his chest. "Figured that out yourself, did you?"

Anders shrugged the satchel off his shoulder and stumbled to his feet, growling something unintelligible before throwing himself at the elf, toppling him only for sheer advantage of weight. Leto hit the ground hard, muck clinging to his clothing as he kicked and thrashed beneath the mage.

"Get off!" he barked. "Get _off_ me!"

Anders leaned back to throw a punch at him, holding his fist with his thumb out. It was such an amateurish thing to do, it made Leto even angrier. He easily caught Anders' fist and pushed him away, forcing him onto his side. Leto kneed him in the ribs, but there was little strength behind it; he had no leverage.

Anders used his free hand to grab for Leto's face, catching a fistful of his hair and the tip of his ear and tearing viciously. Leto shouted in pain and struggled to pull away, leaving Anders with strands of hair ripped from his scalp.

Leto pushed the heel of his palm into Anders' nose, twisting his head back into the mud. Anders flailed wildly, shrieking obscenities, his nose gushing blood like a maleficar.

He got his hands around the elf's slender throat and squeezed harder than he'd ever dared, letting go only when Leto's thumbs began to press into his eyes.

"Stop! _Stop!_ "

"Apologize!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Just let _go!_ "

And Leto did, scrabbling to get some distance between himself and the human. His breathing was ragged, and he lifted a hand to idly rub at his neck.

Anders sat up, his cloak and much of his back coated with mud and filth. He gasped for air, his heart beating out of his chest from adrenaline.

"Maker, I'll not be _blinded_ over this."

He absently ran his fingers through his hair, and pulled them back to find them covered in muck. Mortified, Anders wiped at his clothes, trying in vain to clear away some of the sludge, but it was no use. All he did was smear it even worse.

"You didn't have to hit me," he muttered, watching Leto out of the corner of his eye.

"I should've let you run off with my coin, then?" He massaged at his throat. It hurt to swallow. "I think not."

Anders pulled his cloak off and tried his best to scrape the mud off against a tree. "Maybe not, but I wouldn't've _attacked_ you over it, if it was me. You don't do that to your friends."

Leto set his jaw. "When did we establish that we were friends?"

Anders paused his efforts to clean the cloak, and shot Leto a nasty look. "Is that how it is, then? Then I suppose we'll just glare at each other the rest of the way to Nevarra."

"It's only fitting."

Anders fastened his cloak around his shoulders again, and moved to retrieve his satchel, his boots squelching in the mud. His hair was absolutely filthy, matted down against his head. He looked like a sewer rat, but Leto knew better than to comment on it.

The forest was quiet, then, and it was a while before Leto dared to glance over to Anders.

"What?"

Anders stared at him as if he'd just asked what Andraste thought about the slave trade. "I'm waiting for you, dumbass."

"You are?"

"Well, not for much longer, if you're just gonna sit there."

The reality of their situation demanded a temporary truce, at least until they both figured out where they were headed -- whether together or separately. Anders helped Leto pack up the rest of their things from the campsite, and fell into stride with him as they picked their way through the woods. If they got back to the Imperial Highway now, they'd be able to take it straight to Vol Dorma and skip Asariel entirely.

Paying a caravan to take them south would hardly be difficult. The tricky part was going to be disguising their identities long enough to get out of the Imperium's reach.


	8. Chapter 8

It was another few miles to reach the Imperial Highway. While in the woods, they'd drifted further west than they'd intended; the original plan was to hug the coastline. Leto was horrified with himself for having such a poor sense of direction, but thankfully Anders had never realized just how off-track they'd been. Leto wasn't about to bring it up.

The day got hotter and muggier as it dragged on, and they both found themselves desperately thirsty and wanting for the rain they'd scorned the night before. Anders licked at his parched lips almost incessantly, as if the motion would somehow convince his mouth to stop feeling so damned dry.

Beads of sweat rolled down their necks, both of them now with matted hair and damp clothing sticking to their skin. Anders' blood was clotted beneath his nostrils, flecks spattered all around his upper lip and his cheeks from where he'd smeared it.

When at last they reached the road, the sun was setting red and large on the horizon. They happened past a dwarven caravan as the merchants stopped to make camp for the evening, and had barely begun to approach them when they wound up on the pointed end of a particularly powerful-looking crossbow.

"And just what are you two?" the dwarf asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Prisoners? Thieves? Two lost little boys?"

Leto reached to his hip for the knife, but Anders knew better and grabbed his wrist, both his hands and Leto's raised into the air in surrender.

"Lost, messere," he answered quickly, adding a trembling note of terror to his voice. Leto couldn't tell if it was genuine or if he was feigning. "Don't mean no harm. We've a bit of coin to spare if you've a spot for us in your camp for a few days."

Leto kept his mouth shut, mildly amused at Anders' new uncultured tone. He'd be far more entertained by it if the dwarf would put down his weapon.

The dwarf regarded them for a long moment, trying to gauge their intent. They seemed relatively harmless, but these urchin kids could do some serious damage if backed into a corner. Wouldn't it be better to kill them now -- or at least scare them away -- before they could run off with the caravan's goods?

"Bartrand!" he shouted, keeping his eyes fixed on the two boys. "We've got company."

Another dwarf, this one with a beard, stomped over toward them. He seemed far more irritable than his friend, and snorted at their appearance. "You wander out of a swamp?"

"Just about," Leto remarked.

Anders flashed him a stern look. This was not at all the time for jokes.

To Anders' surprise, however, the first dwarf laughed and lowered his crossbow. "I think we can handle 'em, brother. They're just kids."

"You see to it they pay up their coin, Varric, or _you're_ covering for their rations."

Bartrand stared all three of them down for a minute before going back to whatever he'd previously been doing. Varric gave them a lazy grin.

"Ah, my brother's hospitality knows no bounds." He shook his head. "Please accept my apologies on behalf of House Tethras."

Anders slowly released Leto's hand and let his arms drop to his sides. In retrospect, it was lucky that he'd broken the staff; no one would know he was a mage, necessarily, if he didn't announce it. He made a mental note to keep the Imperial symbol on his cloak's clasp hidden in mud while they were in the dwarves' company.

"Thank you kindly, ser," he gushed, meeting Varric's eyes shyly. It was difficult not to loom over a dwarf, but he tried his best to seem small and insignificant. The less dangerous they appeared, the better off they'd be. If they needed to fight the merchants, they'd have the element of surprise. "Don't know what we'd've done without you. We're much obliged."

Varric waved him off, smiling. "Nah. It's never a problem. I was a hungry boy once, too."

Leto kept a close watch on Varric as he led them to the main campsite, just as wary of the dwarves as he would be of the magisters. Who knew where their loyalties laid? Walking alongside the highway had been one thing, but stopping to spend a night in camp with these random merchants? Leto would be sleeping with one eye open, if he could sleep at all.

Leto slowed his steps, and tried to silently urge Anders to do the same. He finally caught the mage's gaze and held it, reaching to tug at his cloak so Varric would put some distance between them. He kept walking but angled his head to whisper into the other boy's ear. Anders was taller, yes, but not by much.

"We can't do this," he hissed, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. "They'll kill us."

Anders shook his head and nudged him away, annoyed that the elf was clinging to his cloak like a child at his mother's skirt.

"You're being paranoid," he said. To his credit, he spoke quietly as well. "We can't just wander around forever, and we don't know where we'll find water without them."

"We can find our own."

"No. We didn't pass any creeks that whole way."

"We can't trust--"

"We don't have a choice!"

Anders moved away from Leto and picked up the pace so he'd catch up to Varric. They didn't need the dwarves to think they were keeping secrets, no matter what. It would only cast suspicion on them, and Anders was already trying his damndest to paint them as innocent children.

Leto let his breath out slowly through clenched teeth, his eyes narrowed at Anders' back. He didn't appreciate having his own safety taken out of his hands like this, especially now that his life was his own. This was just... just... unacceptable!

He grudgingly trotted after the other two, but hell if he was going along with all this without speaking his mind. It was his coin Anders intended to waste, after all.

Anders was already sitting down at the campfire with the dwarves, talking to Varric and laughing more than anyone ought to with total strangers. They seemed to have a rapport already, and it did little to placate Leto.

"A bronto!" Anders laughed again, smiling at the dwarf. "How did you ever manage that?"

Varric shrugged, and took a long swig from a flask. "Kid, you'd be surprised what you can train them to do."

When Anders smiled, his eyes crinkled in a way that Leto was not at all okay with. He sat down beside him anyway, out of distrust for the rest of the travelers. The mage glanced to him, the light from the fire making their skin glow. "Decided to join us, have you?"

Leto huffed. "I'll know how much we're being charged for this, first."

Varric snickered a bit. "Not half so much as an inn, I promise you that much. Bartrand would probably settle for a few silver."

Leto started to say something, but Anders nudged him with an elbow. "Come on, don't you want to rest for a bit? Somewhere safe?"

"I hardly consider this safe."

Anders rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself, be miserable."

Leto sat quietly for a while, watching the flames dance and listening to the firewood crackle. Varric eventually passed him the flask, and Leto sipped at it thoughtfully. He wouldn't dare drink too much; this was not the time to let one's guard down, especially if Anders didn't intend to keep alert.

Anders, meanwhile, was using a comb Varric had procured for him to work at the matted, dirty knots in his hair. Maker help him, he wasn't going to get a bath for days at best. He brushed gingerly at all the horrible tangles, wincing and occasionally grunting small noises of pain.

Leto glanced to him, and briefly considered offering to help, but quickly thought better of it.

Dinner involved spit-roasted nug and some sort of mashed roots, and Leto couldn't complain. Anders dug into his food with relish, thrilled to be eating something other than the subpar meals they'd subsisted on while in the forest. The dwarves had apparently been doing trade in Seheron, and were bringing back all sorts of exotic spices to sell in the southern regions of Thedas. Leto was surprised that that they'd seen fit to actually use said spices, but Bartrand had chortled and explained, "We didn't go all that way for the sake of some noble's taste buds!"

As much as he hated to admit it, he found himself relaxing a bit in their company. The dwarves weren't bad people, by any means, but Leto's whole life thus far had led him to be wary of just about everyone. It had been a painful lesson to learn as the child of a slave, born into servitude. Inherent distrust was what he'd become accustomed to.

If there was anyone in the camp he could trust at all, it was Anders, and _that_ was a disturbing thought.

Once they'd collectively run out of stories to tell around the fire, the party began to prepare for the evening. Several of the brothers' hirelings stayed posted around the perimeter of their makeshift campsite, ready to take on any man or beast who dared threaten them. The draft animals -- three oxen and a donkey -- were kept tied to the wagons on long, sturdy ropes, but were otherwise free to graze.

Varric offered them a spare bedroll, but there was only one to spare in the first place. Anders set it up fairly close to the fire, determined to stay warm while they had the opportunity. All it took was the mage lying down for a few minutes, the blanket pulled tight to his chest, and he was out like a light.

Leto sat stock still beside him for a long while, guarding him as the dwarves went about their business and eventually settled down to bed, too. A fair bit of time had passed by the time the elf began to yawn. He reluctantly lay down on the bedroll, tugging the ample blanket over himself this time. He kept his back to Anders', so they could at least be somewhat on the defensive while they slept.

As much as he'd wanted to keep a vigilant eye on the camp, Leto was asleep before he even realized it.


	9. Chapter 9

Leto woke when the sky was just beginning to tinge pink with sunrise. His back was sore, his shoulders stiff from sleeping on the ground, but he'd had a full night's rest for the first time in weeks.

He exhaled slowly and let his eyes fall closed again, relaxing into a half-drowse. For a moment, it seemed it was a rare, merciful day at the magister's estate, and he could sleep in for a little longer than usual before getting up to light the fires and begin his work.

Anders was warm and sturdy beside him, simply by virtue of being a human. Leto was hardly frail by any means, but he didn't have the same structure, and could never hope to. If only for a scant while, he and the mage were at peace, subconsciously aware of each other in their sleep. In a primal, instinctive way, the presence of another was reassuring.

He had no idea how much time had passed when Varric knelt down beside him and shook him awake with a gloved hand.

"Hey, buddy. Rise and shine. Bartrand's determined to get an early start."

Leto glanced up at him, groggy and disoriented. "Hm?"

Varric laughed. "You have no idea where you are, do you?"

He was awake enough to resent being mocked. Leto propped himself up on an elbow and tried to stand, kicking Anders in the process. The mage grunted his disapproval and shifted away, tugging the blanket tight around his shoulders.

"You too, kiddo," Varric said, smiling to himself before pulling the blanket away. The sudden influx of cold air woke Anders up very quickly, and he clawed around for the blanket before he realized what was going on. Anders gave them both a lopsided grin and stretched his arms over his head.

"Good morning, serahs," he mumbled, laughing. "Up and at 'em, huh?"

He untangled himself from the cocoon of blankets and rose to his feet a bit shakily, still trying to blink away his grogginess. "Ah, so, perhaps I should've asked this earlier," he started, glancing to Varric. "But you _are_ mostly headed south, yes?"

Varric chuckled. "I'm headed wherever Bartrand thinks we're going. Which was home, last I heard."

"And where's home?"

Varric flashed him a smirk. "Kirkwall, the City of Chains!"

Anders quirked an eyebrow. "You came all the way from the Free Marches for some spices?"

Bartrand appeared from nowhere and clapped Anders on the back, hard enough that Leto flinched in sympathy, too. "You don't know what people pay for that shit!" He looked more alive now than they'd ever seen him, greed and excitement in his eyes. "You can buy it here for cheap, all local, but those rich bastards in Orlais would give a foot for this stuff!"

Varric chuckled. "And the added flavors make Bartrand's cooking more palatable."

"Shut it, Varric."

Varric held up his hands in a placating gesture, but kept smirking. He turned back to the boys. "Well, at any rate. How far were you hoping to hitch a ride?"

"Nevarra," Anders answered, without thinking. "We're still going to Nevarra, right?" He glanced to Leto for confirmation, and received a horrified stare. "What?"

That Anders would so casually give away their destination did not bode well for him keeping the other details of their travels to himself. It'd be for the best if he would learn to shut up for once.

"Yes," he said at last, teeth clenched. "We are going to Nevarra, and I'll thank you all to leave the issue alone."

It was in Varric's nature to ease tensions when possible, and brightly changed the topic. "I think it's high time we got the wagons ready. What do you say, brother?"

"I say you've got the right idea for once." Bartrand took the cue to leave the conversation, and returned to berating the hired help. Anders watched with mild interest as they yoked the draft animals, before Leto nudged him to pitch in packing up the camp.

The sun was officially up by the time they set out on the road, the Imperial Highway stretching far off into the horizon. Leto and Anders were permitted to ride in the back of the second wagon -- only after they'd placed their coin in Bartrand's eager hands -- on the condition they'd watch the rear of the caravan. If any bandits attacked, they were the first line of defense until Varric could ready Bianca.

Anders had no cause to be concerned, but Leto had seen his share of throats slit over smaller disputes than this. Two wagons laden with imported spices were a target enough, and he had no intention of becoming a bonus slave for anyone who stole from these merchants. If their lives were at stake, he would see to it that he removed himself from the situation, with Anders in tow. The mage knew about his escape, and was a liability for it.

The road was surprisingly intact, considering how much traffic it endured. The sections of the Imperial Highway inside Tevinter were still relatively well-kept, compared to its crumbling remains in the rest of Thedas. Leto felt his ears reluctantly adjusting to the elevation as they ascended the highway, its arched pathway casting long shadows on the ground below. He wasn't particularly afraid of heights, but he had little confidence in the ability of the dwarves to keep the animals from spooking and sending them all toppling to their deaths.

"Quite a view, innit?" Anders mused, leaning out the back to look at the land around them. "Haven't been out this far, myself, not since I was a boy."

Leto chose not to point out that he still _was_ just a boy, and grabbed his cloak at the nape of his neck to tug him back into the wagon. "You'll fall."

Anders shifted back and smirked at the elf. "Didn't know you cared."

"You're carrying the silver."

Anders bit his lip. "Ah. So I am."

The mage folded his hands in his lap and sat quietly after that, hesitant to try any more attempts at making conversation. They shared a small handful of anise seeds between them, pilfered from the sacks of spices by Leto's clever fingers, chewing them delicately one by one as the day passed by.


	10. Chapter 10

Vol Dorma was a three days' journey from the spot the dwarves had joined them, and the trip thankfully passed without any significant mishaps. No news was good news, as far as Leto was concerned.

"This is the closest I've ever been to Weisshaupt!" Anders announced, staring out into the west as the sun set on their camp. "My family is from Hossberg, you know." He glanced to Leto to make sure the elf was listening to his story, and was pleasantly surprised to see that he was. "The city was so destroyed, my great-grandfather moved to Minrathous when he was young, to find work. He met my great-grandmother there. She was a magister, and the rest is history!"

Leto wasn't particularly interested in Anders' lineage, but he _was_ interested in the Anderfels. "Weisshaupt... isn't that where the Grey Wardens originated?"

Anders nodded. "Yes. We haven't had a Blight in so long, though..." He smiled ruefully. "I wish they still had griffons. I would've loved to see them."

Leto scoffed, but there was no cruelty in his voice. "Elves are not told the same fanciful stories as children."

"And why not? There are elven Wardens."

Leto laughed mirthlessly. "And that is precisely why we are not told about them. No magister would want their slaves thinking they could be heroes."

Anders was willing to consider the conversation over at that point. He debated whether to offer an apology, but Leto rarely wanted sympathy from someone who'd been on course to owning his own slaves. And who could blame him? The fact that Anders had chosen to reject that life didn't seem to make a difference.

In the morning they approached the city gates, the impressive stone walls rising formidably above the surrounding land. The tower that housed the Circle of Magi was visible even at a great distance, and may as well have been a fortress itself. The magisters in Tevinter each had their own luxurious estates, for the most part, and the tower served primarily as a political building rather than any sort of living quarters. The option was always available, of course, but few would choose the modest accommodations there over their own grand mansions in the city.

Bartrand and Varric wasted no time, and began to go through the necessary channels to sell their wares in the city. They'd stay for a few days, make some deals, and then move on. Leto was fairly nervous about being in any one place for longer than they absolutely had to, but Anders was excited to explore everything. His parents had a friend here with whom they exchanged letters, and occasionally gifts. With his mother and father vacationing in Antiva for the next year at least, seeking out help in Vol Dorma was the only other viable option.

"Hey." Anders tugged at Leto's arm and pulled him away from the crowd, keeping his voice hushed. "While we're here, there's someone we should try to track down. He's a magister, but my family knows him. He can help us!"

Leto narrowed his eyes. "A magister."

Anders nodded. "He's a good man. You'll see."

"You'll understand if I am reluctant to believe a _magister_ is going to help us with anything."

Anders sighed deeply. "You're just going to have to trust me, all right? I promise, everything is going to be fine."

Leto didn't have a chance to say anything further, because Bartrand waved them over, barking orders to them as well as the men he'd hired. They were staying in a largish room at a fairly upscale tavern -- if a tavern could ever be referred to as such -- and the two boys were expected to help carry in the crates of product. As far as Leto was concerned, this was simple work, and hardly paid his way. Anders, who'd never had to lift more than a stack of books, was not handling the task as well.

By they time they'd carted in all of the dwarves' spices and other assorted merchandise, Anders' hands were blistering. He sat on a spare bed and tended to his assaulted palms, wincing at the pain and gingerly applying healing magic.

"The beds are not for us," Leto noted, diligently setting up their own bedroll in the far corner. He wanted to be able to keep an eye on the door while still staying as far away from it as possible.

Anders glanced up at him, distracted away from tending his wounds. "I can sit down for a minute, can't I?"

Leto shook his head. "With the state your robes are in? Not wise."

For the first time in days, Anders was suddenly very aware of how positively filthy he was. "Is there a bath here, d'you think?"

"I would imagine so."

Anders stood up and wandered back out into the hall, in search of anyone who would help him draw a bath. An elven slave, no doubt. Leto grit his teeth, frustrated with the other boy. How could anyone be alive for so long and haven't the slightest clue how to do the simplest tasks? He wondered if the mage knew how to wipe his own ass, or if his family had slaves for that, too.

He'd lost himself in sharpening the ceremonial knife, when it occurred to him that Anders was still carrying all of their coin. He didn't have enough faith in the mage's common sense to trust him not to leave his robes -- and their money -- unattended while he bathed. Cursing, he affixed the knife to his belt and hurried out of the room, skulking around until he found where the mage.

Anders' robes and cloak were in a dirt-encrusted pile on the floor, and the boy was scrubbing feebly at himself with a wet rag. He dipped it occasionally into a small bucket of what may have once been hot water. Leto felt a twinge of sympathy when he saw the mage shivering, but quickly waved it away. He'd dealt with cold baths his whole life; Anders would have to learn sooner or later.

Despite his bare feet, his steps did make enough noise for Anders to notice. He stared wide-eyed at Leto over his shoulder, miserably chilled from the water evaporating off his skin. "W-What? Why are you here?"

Leto knelt beside Anders' clothing and dug around for the small pouch of silver. He tied it to his belt and pulled his shirt down to conceal it. "I had to be sure you wouldn't be pickpocketed during this... excursion."

"I'm not _stupid!_ " Anders snapped, glaring at him. "Have you no faith in me at all?"

Leto glared back, and kept his eyes very deliberately trained on Anders'. "No."

"You're an asshole!"

Anders threw the rag at him, and Leto caught it before it could hit his face. He stood up and shoved the washcloth into Anders' hands, regarding him calmly.

"And you are a child."

Anders grunted in frustration, and turned his back on the elf. "Maker, just let me wash in peace."

Leto scoffed and left the room as quickly as he'd entered, leaving Anders shaking with anger and cold.

The silver clinked in the pouch against his thigh as he walked, and he clutched at it to silence the noise. It would do them no favors to attract undue attention. Discretion was the entire reason he'd taken it back from Anders, after all.

Leto promptly returned to tending the knife, and hardly batted an eye when Anders stormed in ten minutes later, his hair dripping onto his shoulders, his robes bunched in one arm while the other held a towel around his waist.

"You'll get splinters on this floor," Leto noted, amused.

"You go barefoot all the time!"

"Yes, and I am accustomed to it."

Anders scowled, and dumped his clothing unceremoniously onto the floor. The rifled through the dwarves' supplies for something simple he could wear while he washed the robes. Even if it was too small, it'd be more acceptable than walking around naked.

"So I take it you just hate me, then?" he asked, his voice bitter. "And here I thought we were getting on so well." He found a shirt and pulled it on, frowning as it caught too tightly around his shoulders.

"Is this still for kicking over the stew? I'm sorry, by the way. I thought you could figure out that much."

Leto watched as Anders put on a pair of pants that became _culottes_ on his lanky legs. He continued to idly drag the blade along the whetstone, even though it was now sufficiently sharp.

"It's not that," he muttered, irritated with himself as much as Anders. "I am... concerned for our well being, in this place."

Anders was surprised to hear him use the word 'our,' but didn't bring it up. "You don't trust the dwarves, either?" he asked. "Is there anyone you _do_ trust?"

Leto pressed his lips into a thin line and stared down at the blade. "Other than myself? No."

Anders sighed. "I could've guessed that."

Leto looked up at him, and gave him a severe look. "And you pity me for this? For my self-preservation?" He stood up and had the knife against Anders' throat before he had time to blink. Anders' breathing turned quick and panicked, and he grabbed for Leto's wrist to force him away. The elf pushed the knife harder against him, turning it to press the flat of the blade against his neck. He didn't intend to draw blood; he'd made his point.

"You trust too easily," he muttered, backing away and leaving Anders trembling in his wake.

Anders clutched at his neck defensively, and watched Leto's back with betrayal in his eyes.

"You will note," he said, his voice carefully measured, "That I've never used my magic against you."

He picked up his clothing and made for the door, shooting Leto a long look. "You're too quick to turn a knife on a friend." He laughed darkly. "Oh, but we've determined we're _not_ friends, yes? Forgive me. It slipped my mind."

With that, he left to tend to his robes, and Leto struggled to convince himself he'd done nothing wrong.


	11. Chapter 11

"I've a friend here," Anders started, following at Bartrand's heels like a kitten. "Someone my parents know. I'd like to stop by."

Bartrand snorted. "You think I give a shit?" he asked, not sparing a glance back. "Fifty sovereigns gets you a crate," he barked, his attention devoted solely to a merchant. "Twenty for a mixed sack."

"A crate, serah," the man replied, carefully counting out the gold pieces. "You'll deliver in the morning?"

"If these boys get off their lazy asses."

The merchant chuckled. "I can sympathize."

"It'll only take a moment," Anders insisted, cutting into the conversation. "Please, you don't understand--"

"I _understand_ ," he replied, gruffly, "That you'll have no dinner if you interrupt me again."

"But--"

"Get out of my face!"

Anders shrank away and hurried to make himself scarce. He'd go find Varric instead, or maybe just take off for a few hours unannounced. He'd prefer not to go alone in this unfamiliar city, but if that's what it came down to, so be it.

"Don't antagonize our ride," Leto chided him, appearing from the crowd and flanking him. "Especially considering you were the one so dead set on--"

"I need your help," Anders blurted. "We need to find that magister."

Leto raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "And you want an ex-slave to go with you?"

"Hey, now," he said, taking Leto's arm and winding through the throngs of people. "I was a slave-to-be, too. Both our asses are on the line, but he could get us emancipated."

Leto shook his head, but went along with him, anyway. "I don't like this."

"You don't like anything."

A fair point.

The magister lived in an estate on the east edge of the city, if memory served. The last Anders had heard of him had been a letter they received shortly before his parents had left for Antiva, asking them to look for a certain wine if they came across it. With his family abroad, this magister was the only hope they had. He was wealthy enough to send both of them to Nevarra, and then some. Safe passage would be gift enough.

"Excuse me," Anders said, smiling charmingly at a passing woman. "I'm looking for Danarius. My... my slave and I, we're visiting from Minrathous, and I wish to pay him a visit."

The woman, clearly a magister herself if her robes were any indication, scrutinized them for a long moment before relenting. "On that hill," she said, pointing off to her left. "Large olive tree out front. You can't miss it."

"Thank you, dear lady," he gushed, sweeping down for a quick bow before rushing off in that direction, Leto hot on his heels.

The mansion was absolutely huge, and several slaves were tending the lush gardens as they approached. Leto wished he had some way to mask his eyes, to hide his ears. Based on height alone, he might just pass for human if his other features were obscured. As it was, he was attracting plenty of stares from the workers as they passed. The elves had considerably less interest in Anders; what use was a human mage?

"We shouldn't be here," Leto whispered, staying close to Anders for fear of being outed as a slave. It felt like the others knew, just by looking at him. He hated them, resented them for being who he was just a month ago. It already seemed a world away.

They walked up the winding path to Danarius' home, both in awe of the fragrant, flowering trees that decorated the grounds. Leto recognized some of them from when he was very young on Seheron, but Anders had never seen most of them in his life. All the shrubs were trimmed just so, and the whole scene spoke of great wealth.

Anders steeled his nerves and knocked on the large door, his knuckles hardly making a sound. He reached for the brass knocker and tapped it against the rich mahogany door, chewing his lip as he waited for it to open.

Leto stood poised and ready to bolt at the first sight of trouble. Nothing Anders said could placate him -- they were walking into a lion's den.

An elf with suspicious bruises answered the door, eyeing them warily.

"Yes?" she asked, keeping her gaze averted.

"We're here to see Master Danarius," Anders explained, smiling kindly at her. The girl refused to look at him directly, and kept her head down. "My parents are friends of his from Minrathous, the Adenauer family."

She nodded quickly. "Yes, messere. I'll tell him right away."

The boys waited in the foyer as she scampered off to Maker knew where. Leto kept glancing around, as if he expected a monster to jump out at any second. Anders folded his arms across his chest and rocked on his heels.

After what seemed like forever, an aging man descended the grand staircase, one wrinkled hand trailing along the banister to keep his balance.

"And whom might you be?" he asked, his lip curling in a smile that Leto did not appreciate. Everything about this man rubbed him the wrong way.

Anders nodded to him in acknowledgement. "Yes, ser, my mother and father know you."

Danarius studied his fingernails intensely. "Do they now? Do your parents have names, child?"

Anders bristled at being patronized, but shrugged it off. He reminded himself that this man was their ticket out of Tevinter, but only if he could sufficiently win him over.

"Oskar and Eli Adenauer," he said, forcing a smile. "They write you letters all the time. They're vacationing in Rialto right now."

"Mmm." Danarius studied them much in the same way one would examine an insect pinned to a display. "And what, may I ask, brings you to my home?"

"I..." Anders faltered. He hadn't thought this through. No choice now but to be out with the truth, if they wanted their servitude absolved. "My master in Minrathous, he was going to make me a slave."

Danarius smiled again, and it made Leto's hair stand on end. "Why ever would he do that?"

Anders glanced away. "I can't do blood magic," he mumbled.

"Speak up, boy. You are addressing an elder."

"I can't do blood magic," he repeated.

"You won't do blood magic." Danarius chuckled, like the whole thing was a joke. To him, it may as well have been.

"It's not that I _won't_ ," Anders clarified, unable to completely mask his frustration. "It's that I _can't._ "

"Well, not all of us have sufficient talent to be magisters," Danarius said, loftily. Anders started to say something, but the older man cut him off. "Tell me, who's your friend?" A cruel smile played on his lips. "He has such fascinating ears... just like knives."

Leto took a step forward, gritting his teeth at the slur, but Anders put a hand on his chest to hold him back. This plan was very rapidly deteriorating.

"Please," Anders begged, tears threatening to well in his eyes. "Please, I just want to go home."

Something resembling pity flickered across Danarius' expression, but his gaze quickly hardened. He smiled at the boys, his elevated position on the stairs intimidating.

"Oh, I'm sure we can arrange that, my dear boy."

"Anders," Leto said, a note of fear in his voice.

The mage glanced to him, and Leto had just enough time to watch Anders open his mouth to scream when he found himself completely paralyzed and rooted to the floor. He couldn't breathe, couldn't blink, and if the lack of a shout was any indication, Anders was in the same predicament.

"Marcus!" Danarius called. "See to it that these fugitives are dealt with."

A burly man, who must've served as some manner of bodyguard, appeared a minute later. He bound their hands and feet with thick, scratchy ropes, and easily heaved them up, one over each shoulder. Leto watched the floor tile pass by as the lumbering guard carted them away.

"Let us go!" he shouted, struggling against the ropes as the magic wore off. "Put me _down_ \--"

"That's quite enough," Danarius remarked, almost bored by these events. He flicked his hand in their direction again and Leto was now mute, screaming soundlessly until his throat hurt. The guard's grip on him was viciously tight, his ribcage crushed against the man's shoulder. He could hardly breathe.

Anders was crying; Leto knew this only from the occasional droplet he saw splatter against the tile. He, too, was eerily silent, and Leto had no doubt he was under the same spell.

They were carried down several flights of stairs into what seemed to be Danarius' personal dungeons. Marcus dumped them onto the cold, stone floor with no regard for his relative height. They landed hard, and Anders startled them both when he yelped in pain. The silencing spell had worn off, but they were now behind strong cell bars. Some kind of glowing force field kept them in check even if they could get past the iron.

Anders fired an experimental blast of arcane energy at it, and his heart sank as the bolt dissipated into nothing. He slumped down against the cell wall and buried his face in his hands.

Leto got to his feet and began pacing like a caged tiger.

"You don't have to say it," Anders muttered. "It's all my fault."

"Yes," Leto agreed, fidgeting restlessly. "This is entirely your fault."

Anders' choked sobs were only slightly muffled by his arms, and his shoulders heaved with his labored breathing. Leto ignored him, and frantically examined every last inch of their confines, desperately seeking some kind of out. They would have no such luck today.

  
illustration by [me](http://elendraug.deviantart.com/art/DLT-Imprisoned-216256994), hurp-a-durp 8Da


	12. Chapter 12

Danarius sent word to Anders' master in Minrathous, although he had little success in his attempts to procure any information from Leto. The elf refused to cooperate, no matter how many threats of torture were made. The boy wouldn't even give his name.

"The landscaping is not yet complete, or I'd force it all out of you," he mused, drumming his fingers on the cell bars. "As soon as we've a suitable sacrifice, you and I will have a chat."

He gave Leto another one of the smiles that turned his stomach, but outright ignored Anders. Danarius had maintained contact with Anders' parents solely for political purposes, and harbored no interest in the young mage aside from returning him to his master. It was a simple way to curry favor. The elf could be tossed in to sweeten the deal, if he found no other use for him.

For now, he was making no progress. Danarius left them without another word; he had other business to attend to.

Leto had paced enough to wear down the floor, if it wasn't stone, and if he wasn't barefoot. At long last he dropped beside Anders, who had spent hours curled in on himself, wallowing in self-pity and tremendous guilt.

"So," he said, staring out at the glowing red force field that coated the space between the bars like an ethereal film. "You _would_ do blood magic, but can't."

Anders groaned. "I don't want to talk about this."

"I expect you to explain yourself, mage, if you expect me to remain in your company."

Anders rubbed at his forehead, brushing back his mussed bangs. "I'm not sure why you'd want to."

Leto said nothing.

"I've tried it, you know," Anders said, once it was clear that Leto didn't intend to add anything further. "I've used that knife, the one they took away." He gestured to Leto's belt. "But the spells never work. I understand how to do them, of course. I learned the skills. Every time I try to work the magic, though, nothing happens. It's like something's stopping me."

Leto snorted. "This is what you call learning a skill? Abject failure?"

Anders gave him such a sorrowful look that Leto couldn't bear to push the issue. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong," he murmured, lost in his confusion.

"If you could do it, you'd be a magister."

"Yes."

"And you would own slaves."

"Someday, probably, yes."

"And you see no problem with this?"

Anders glanced away, staring out into nothingness. "It's what was expected of me. I've never had to think about it much, until now." He sighed. "My family, we always treated our slaves well. At least, I thought so."

"They were still slaves."

"They had a safe place to sleep, and plenty to eat. We were kind to them, and rewarded them for their service." He met Leto's gaze again, but there was no defiance in his eyes. He was weary of arguing with the elf. "What would you have me do?"

"Release them. There is no justification for slavery."

Anders shook his head. "You know I don't have the authority to do that." He made a frustrated noise. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I'll never be a magister now."

The day passed by agonizingly slowly, and the boys had no idea what time it was when Danarius next showed himself. Marcus accompanied him, dragging along the bruised elf girl who'd answered the door when they'd made the mistake of coming to this forsaken place. She hung her head, sight unfocused.

Leto rose to his feet and adapted something resembling a fighter's stance. Anders remained sitting, dejected and utterly without hope.

"What do you want?" Leto growled.

"Ah, such fire in this one!" Danarius laughed. "My, what a treat you'll be."

He nodded to Marcus. "This elf needs to learn to speak when spoken to. It seems he has forgotten already that one does not talk back to his master."

"You are not my master!" Leto snapped.

"Not yet, perhaps. But soon. It depends if Caladrius wants you or not. We'll see what he says when we return this mageling." Danarius turned to his bodyguard and smiled. "Go ahead."

Marcus gripped the elven girl's arm so tightly that the boys could hear her bones snap. Leto grit his teeth; Anders fought back a wave of nausea.

She shrieked in pain, but the noise soon mutated into a mangled gurgling as Marcus slit her throat. Danarius didn't even bat an eye.

Horrified, Anders held up a hand to shield his eyes, and Leto curled his hands into fists at his sides, his fingernails digging into his palms.

"Are you ready to tell me whose property you are, elf?" Danarius asked, almost bored by this ordeal.

"I'd sooner die."

Danarius sighed. "Very well."

He began to cast a spell, the girl's blood fueling his magic, viscous red droplets splattering everywhere as the magister drew it from her veins. Leto was suddenly seized by hideous pain, and cried out in agony. Danarius moved Leto's body with a simple thought, and smiled in amusement.

"Who owns you, boy?" he asked, his tone mocking and cruel.

Leto choked out a response, but a deafening roar overpowered all other sound.

"No one owns him!"

Danarius had enough time to look surprised before his skull exploded, his corpse collapsing to the floor -- lifeless and headless. Marcus was in a similar state, his limbs rent from his body, his throat torn out by some unseen force. The magical barrier was destroyed, the iron bars warped and twisted enough to allow them passage.

Leto stood stock still, shocked and unable to process what had transpired.

"Blessed Andraste, guide us both," he gasped, finally tearing his gaze away from the carnage. He reached to his belt for the knife, cursing when he remembered it'd been taken from him. No doubt with Danarius dead, they'd be able to search the mansion for a makeshift weapon or two.

When he regained his bearings, Leto turned to determine how Anders was faring. The mage was lying on the ground, his eyes rolled back in his head, convulsing.

"Anders!" Leto shouted, crouching down beside him. He reached out to touch him, his hand hovering above the mage's shoulder, afraid to make contact. What were you supposed to do when someone was having a seizure? He ground his teeth in frustration and self-doubt. He couldn't let him crack his skull open, flailing around like this!

Leto gingerly moved to sit cross-legged behind Anders, and tried to rest the mage's head in his lap. As soon as Leto touched him, the thrashing stopped. He couldn't tell if Anders was still breathing, and that terrified him more than what had happened to Danarius and the guard.

Leto poised his hand over Anders' mouth, and was relieved to feel his breath against his palm.

"Thank the Maker," he sighed.

It took another ten minutes of worrying before Anders came to, coughing and sputtering. His eyes slowly focused on Leto's, and he shuddered.

"What happened?" he murmured, scared and unsure. "I didn't... I didn't mean to..."

Leto brushed his hair back, trying to calm him the way his mother had when he and Varania were young.

"You saved us," he soothed. "We can go when you're ready."

Leto had enough compassion not to point out they would've been perfectly fine if Anders had never insisted they come here.

Anders frowned, but didn't move. "I can't remember what just happened."

"Danarius started to use blood magic on me. Then you shouted, and both of them were dead." He continued to idly run his fingers through Anders' hair, despite the nagging feeling of embarrassment that made him want to stop. "Made a mess."

Anders turned his head and balked. "I... see that."

He pulled away, and Leto felt oddly disappointed. Anders shakily got to his feet, careful to avoid the blood that pooled outside their cell. He stepped cautiously through the gap in the bars, and waited for Leto to follow him.

It was mutually understood that they needed to get the hell out as soon as possible.


	13. Chapter 13

They nabbed back Anders' ceremonial dagger, which Danarius had seen fit to leave sitting on a side table, and fled the mansion as fast as their legs could carry them. The slaves in the gardens paid them no mind; Leto could only imagine the chaos that would occur when they discovered their master lay dead. If discretion wasn't so vital at the moment, he'd shout it to them himself.

Although the dagger had been in plain sight, their coin was nowhere to be found. It had been lifted from Leto's belt along with the knife. Anything valuable Danarius had was kept well-hidden -- and likely guarded by magical wards -- so the boys had left with considerably less than what they'd come in with. Regardless, they were grateful for their lives. That was all that mattered.

They'd been locked in the dungeons overnight, and it was early morning by the time they dashed away from the mansion. They slunk back into the tavern, and Anders all but broke down the door with his frantic knocking.

"Varric!" he called, pressing his cheek to the door. He tried to keep his voice down, but it was impossible to contain his panic. "Maker, Varric, let us in!"

Varric did, and stared at them groggily. "What in the void happened to you two?" he asked, mildly entertained. "Piss off the Crows or something?"

Anders rushed inside the room with Leto just behind him, and closed the door as quickly as he could.

Varric narrowed his eyes. "You don't _actually_ have assassins after you, right?"

Anders' gaze kept flicking back to the door, as if he expected an ogre to burst through it at any given second. "No," he said at last. "Not yet, anyway."

Varric rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "And to think I'd planned on sleeping in." He waved towards the bed. "Sit down. You're making me nervous, pacing like that."

The boys did as they were told. Anders felt like he was anticipating a lecture from his parents. Leto likened it to expecting the crack of a whip.

Varric took a seat in a large chair opposite them, and folded his hands in his lap. "All right. Mind telling me what's going on now?"

Anders stared down at his feet, unable to look Varric in the eye. Leto, who knew better than Anders when to lie and when to speak truth, explained the best he could.

"Anders knew of a family friend who lived in an estate outside town," he said, the fear in his eyes betraying his steady voice. "This magister was no friend of ours."

Varric raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"He... attacked us, unbidden, and locked us in his personal dungeons. I've no idea what he intended to do, apart from... some manner of blood magic, I imagine."

"But you escaped."

Leto glanced to the mage at his side. "Anders killed him."

Varric was quiet for a long moment, mulling this over, and then sighed heavily. "It wouldn't be the first time I've harbored fugitives. Maker knows I've been one a few times, myself."

Anders looked up at him with large, red eyes. "You're not going to send us away?"

Varric shook his head. "Of course not. We're in this together now." He smiled. " _Someone_ ought to look out for you."

Anders impulsively threw his arms around Varric's neck in a crushingly tight hug. Leto scoffed at the display, but in all honesty, he was just as thankful. Maybe Anders had been right to trust this dwarf.

Maybe Leto had been right to trust Anders.

Varric released the mage and clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get you two out of here."


	14. Chapter 14

Bartrand was furious that their business in Vol Dorma had been cut short, but made the necessary preparations despite his anger. To tell the truth, most of his dealings had been just about wrapped up anyway. If they'd lingered any longer, Bartrand would've accused Varric of stalling, and wasting opportunities elsewhere.

The sudden rush had the hired help raising questions, but several convincing explanations rolled easily off Varric's tongue, and the men were placated. By afternoon, they were leaving the city, the draft animals' hooves clopping against the smooth stones of the Highway.

Since the nightmare in Danarius' mansion, Anders had stayed at Leto's side like a duckling follows its mother. The experience seemed to have shaken him considerably. Whatever sort of power he'd summoned to kill the magister, he hadn't breathed a word about it.

It was a long journey to Nevarra. The only confirmation the boys had that the dwarves would continue on this path was their ultimate destination of Kirkwall. Even so, despite Varric's promises, Leto feared it was a matter of time before they were cast aside as too much trouble.

Anders had curled up on himself in the back of the wagon, leaning his back on a sack of spices. He mumbled something under his breath. Even with his elven hearing, Leto couldn't quite make it out.

"Hm?"

Anders lifted his head to meet Leto's gaze. "I said, I want to go home."

A pang of pity gripped Leto's chest, but he shook his head. "You're nothing but a slave there. We can't go back."

Anders let his cheek rest against his knees and closed his eyes. "I know."

Leto frowned, and shifted towards the mage. He hesitated, remembering how Anders had moved away too soon back in the prison cell. Was this truly wise? Perhaps not, but comfort was a rare thing in days like these.

He laid a hand on Anders' shoulder, and tried to smile. "Once we find my mother, she'll set things right. She always knows what to do."

Anders kept perfectly still, his arm tensing beneath Leto's touch. "I've no hope of seeing my parents again, have I?"

"Ah, that's..." _Probably true._ "That's up to the Maker to decide, is it not?"

"Stop it." Anders shrugged away and turned his back on the elf. "You're not helping."

Leto stared at him for a long, awkward moment and reluctantly put some distance between them. These tactics were not working. He needed to take Anders' mind off their circumstances. He hardly enjoyed discussing magic, but perhaps it would get his friend to perk up a bit.

"What spell do you like the most?"

Anders hazarded a glance at him, confused. "Why?"

Leto shrugged. "I'm merely curious."

"About magic?" Anders huffed. "Color me surprised."

This wasn't working, either. "You healed my hand very well. That ought to count for something."

Anders smiled despite himself. "I like helping people. Not just people, but I hardly ever get to practice with anything else."

Now this was getting them somewhere. Leto folded his arms across his chest and made damn sure Anders knew he was listening. "What else do you heal?"

"Animals," he replied, stealing another quick glance at the elf. "A tomato plant, once. My mother had tended to it all summer, but no matter what she tried, it couldn't keep its strength."

The wagon passed over a dislodged bit of stonework and jostled roughly. Anders gripped onto the heavy cargo for support. Leto followed suit, and braced himself against a crate.

Anders continued his story as if nothing had happened. "It was for a gardening contest with the other ladies in the estates beside ours, so using any sort of magic was considered cheating. A violation of the rules would've disqualified her for that year, if not forever." He grinned at the memory. "So I snuck out at night to give it a boost. By the morning, it had the broadest leaves you've ever seen, and perfect, ripe tomatoes just in time for the deadline."

He laughed. "I've never breathed a word of that to anyone, until now. I was so afraid my mother would find out, and feel guilty over winning that year." He shook his head, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "But at any rate, I mostly heal people."

Anders hugged his knees to his chest again. "It must seem so silly to you, using magic to heal a plant."

Leto shook his head. "It was a kind thing to do. You raised your mother's spirits, besides."

"Mmm. That's true, I suppose." He tilted his head to rest once again on his knees. "I miss her so much."

Leto knew better than to question whom he meant. He felt the same, after all. "I miss my mother, as well."

"Don't we all?"

Anders and Leto both jumped, startled to see Varric poking his head back into the covered section of their wagon. The dwarf laughed -- but only at their expressions, not the topic.

"I'm as much for reminiscing as anyone, but for now we need you to postpone it and help set up camp."

Without another word, Leto leapt down from the still-moving wagon, landing easily on his bare feet and grunting just slightly at the impact. Anders waited until it had pulled to a stop, then followed the elf, albeit more carefully.

Dinner was a flavorful, heavily spiced dish that originated in Antiva, if Varric was to be believed. Bartrand's cooking left much to be desired, but Leto was always thankful for a chance to eat. Without any coin of their own, the significance of a free meal was not lost on him.

Anders wondered if his parents were eating similar in Rialto, and if they were thinking of him, too. Was it foolhardy to think that they'd have Caladrius pardon him, upon their return? Could he ever go back to Tevinter, a mage with no hope of becoming a magister? Would he ever speak -- or even write -- to them again? What if they thought him dead?

All but first watch soon retired for the night. The rich food sat like a lead weight in his stomach, and he lay on his side of the bedroll, homesick and miserable. By the time the campfire had died to embers, Leto was stirred from his sleep by Anders' back trembling against his. He kept his breathing steady, and despite his empathy, pretended for Anders' sake that he didn't hear him crying.

In the morning, Leto spoke nothing of it, and they continued their journey south. It would be another three weeks before they reached the Nevarran border, and two past that before they hit the capital city. No one was looking forward to crossing the Silent Plains, but if they wished to stay on the Imperial Highway proper, it was their only choice.


	15. Chapter 15

Halfway to Nevarra, the Imperial Highway reached a junction with an offshoot to Solas. Their caravan met up with an outpost of two Imperium soldiers, although no doubt they had backup should they require it.

“Probably just checking our trade agreements, or some bullshit,” Varric assured them, almost dismissively. “Let me handle it.”

The dwarf hopped down from the front of the main wagon, Bianca slung over his shoulder, and warmly greeted the two soldiers.

“Sers,” he said, with a curt nod. “Great weather, isn’t it?”

The Silent Plains were unbearably hot, of course, and the guards didn’t find the joke at all amusing. Varric quirked an eyebrow when both soldiers remained unimpressed.

“Ah, well, our papers are in order,” he continued on, unfazed. “Here you are.”

One guard took the documents from him and skimmed through the pages. “New requirements now, serah,” she said, regarding him levelly, her eyes squinted against the sunlight. “Mandatory search of all caravans for escaped slaves.”

Varric’s heart stopped. “Hadn’t heard of this. We’re in a hurry -- perishables, and all that.”

“Won’t take us half a moment.” She turned and waved her companion forward. “Marcus, you’ve got the second one. I’ll take the first.”

Varric nodded. Showing any hesitation would only do them in. They had to feign ignorance, to convince these guards that the boys were hired help.

"I understand. Take your time," he said, keeping his voice steady. He walked back, trying to somehow keep pace with the soldiers’ longer, human strides without seeming like he was in a hurry. The other dwarves they travelled with were already out of the wagons, waiting patiently beside the draft animals. Anders and Leto were nowhere to be seen, and were unwittingly casting suspicion upon themselves.

Shit.

Varric heaved himself up into the back of the second wagon and gave the boys a severe look.

"Get out, and act like nothing's wrong," he urged, keeping his voice low. He nodded to Leto in particular. "Try to hide your ears."

Leto hurriedly brushed his fingers through his hair in an effort to obscure his features, and wished to the Maker that they had a damn hat, or helmet, or anything. But in this heat, who would be wearing one voluntarily?

They climbed out of the wagon and tried their best to act nonchalant as they moved to stand beside the others. Anders stood tall, hoping to draw attention away from Leto if at all possible. These soldiers wouldn't suspect the dwarves of being slaves whatsoever, and as a human, Anders too was less at risk. If Leto was discovered to be an elf, however... It could hardly be called anything other than racial profiling.

The soldiers poked and prodded their way through the two brothers’ belongings, as if they expected to somehow sniff out a slave that was stashed away behind a sack of spices. The man -- Marcus -- seemed almost disappointed when there were no people hiding in the wagons.

"Nothing, Octavia. They're free to leave."

Octavia turned to look at the small group and nodded, sharply but not unkindly. "Very well. There are rewards posted for escaped slaves, so remember that it is never in your interest to harbor runaways." She smiled. "The Imperium looks after its own, and we've no qualm showing our gratitude to good neighbors on their travels."

"We'll keep that in mind," Varric said plainly. "Thank you for your time." He hated himself for saying it; it was the equivalent of grudgingly thanking the merchant's guild for taking the time to lecture him about his sorry track record with their meetings.

Varric started to turn towards their caravans, when Bartrand's gruff voice sent a chill through all of them.

"What kind of reward we talkin'?"

It was impossible to miss the glance that Octavia and Marcus shared. The question had been such an afterthought, he had to know _something._ He had to be _hiding_ something.

"Depends on the value of the slave," Octavia replied, taking a step forward. "Returning a common laborer might earn you a few gold pieces, but if someone's missing a specialized servant, someone with skill, you could be seeing quite a bit of coin."

Bartrand pushed foolishly, greedily forward. "And the one who turns them in, what happens to him? Any slap on the wrist, if he hadn't reported it before?"

Octavia shot Marcus a sidelong look, then focused on the dwarf again. "Generally, no. The magisters are primarily concerned with regaining their property. The Imperium understands that not all foreigners are aware of the local laws..."

Varric was of the opinion that blood was not necessarily thicker than water. He leaned surreptitiously towards one of their hired hands.

"Unhitch Puzzle and get a bridle on him," he instructed, speaking quietly. "And do it fast."

The other dwarf shrugged and moved to do so. Varric turned to the boys, and slipped Anders a small coinpurse. "I know my brother," he said, his voice shaking despite himself. "And he is about to rat you out."

Anders' eyes grew wide, but Leto was completely unsurprised. He'd been expecting it from the moment they'd started travelling with this group.

Varric gripped Anders' wrist so tightly, the mage was afraid it might snap. "When he gets the balls to say it, you two need to take Puzzle here and just keep heading south. I'll try to hold them off."

Leto glanced to the animal in dismay. "The donkey?"

Anders glared at him, tears threatening to spill over. "You'd prefer an ox for us?" he hissed, furious that the elf could be so ungrateful at a moment like this. He clutched Varric's hand and chewed his lip. "Thank you for everything. I won't--"

Bartrand pointed towards the two of them. "Blond one's a mage, black hair's an elf. They've both escaped their masters."

Varric drew Bianca off his shoulder and readied an arrow. " _Run!_ "

Bartrand made damn sure to get the hell out of the way, shaking his head at his idiot of a brother. Who in their right mind would defend two worthless teenage fugitives? A fool, that's who.

Octavia lifted her shield to block Varric's arrow, and shouted to Marcus. "Stop them!"

The unlucky dwarves working for the Tethras brothers had to impulsively choose sides, the one who'd readied the donkey doing his best to cover for Varric, while the others sporadically decided between joining Bartrand or sitting the whole thing out. They'd signed up for simple labor, not battling Imperium guards.

Leto and Anders had taken off the instant Varric had yelled, kicking up sand and dust as they sprinted towards the wagons. Anders struggled to heave himself up onto the donkey's back, which was almost impossible without stirrups or even a saddle. Leto grabbed his foot and gave him a leg up, and the mage scrabbled for purchase, threading his fingers into the animal's mane. Puzzle shook his head in irritation, but thankfully held still long enough for Anders to hoist Leto up behind him.

All they had to work with was a simple bridle and its reins, and Anders hadn't ridden since he was a boy. Leto had never been on a horse in his life, and cinched his arms around the mage's waist, clinging for his life.

Anders kicked frantically, terrified, and the donkey took off running away from the commotion. Leto glanced back at the fighting, his heart beating out of his chest, and watched as Bianca's arrows tore through the guards.

He pressed his face against Anders' back, the fabric of his cloak blocking out the dusty sunlight of the Silent Plains, and tried to stop thinking.


	16. Chapter 16

They drove the donkey forward, pushing him as fast as they could until he slowed to a halt, plodding along with clear exhaustion. Anders was still scared out of his mind; even though they'd escaped from the conflict, they now faced certain death in the Silent Plains.

There was no one around for miles, no one except the Tethras caravan. They had a fair bit of coin from Varric's generosity, but no food, no water, no protection from the windblown sand and dust. The more he thought about it, the more parched he felt.

"What do we do?" he asked. It wasn't immediately obvious if he was speaking to himself, Leto, or nobody. Even Anders didn't really know whom he'd addressed.

"We continue on," Leto replied, evenly. "There is no other option."

The sun beat down upon their backs, and Anders quickly shed his cloak to ease the heat. Leto took it from him, in an effort to ward off sunburn. Puzzle seemed just as weary of the situation as the boys, his breathing becoming increasingly labored the longer they went without a rest.

Anders rubbed at the donkey's neck, patting him reassuringly. "Hang in there, buddy. We'll get there soon."

It was a lie, and he knew it. They had no clue where they were, and their only choice was to continue following the broken stones of the Imperial Highway until they reached Nevarra. What they'd even find when they got there, neither of them knew.

A few hours after they'd left Varric's company, Anders brought Puzzle to a full stop and dismounted. He parted his cracked lips, aching for water, every inch of him dry and dusty. Turning back to the animal, he offered Leto a hand and helped him get down. The elf winced when his feet touched the earth; even after years of walking barefoot, the ground was too scorched for him.

"We need shade," Leto urged, glancing around desperately for anything that might be repurposed as a shelter. There was little in the way of... anything, really. Their prospects looked grim.

Anders stared out into the distance, the land flat and dry as far as he could see. The glare of the sun strained his eyes, and soon he had to look away. He licked at his lips, trying to moisten the skin. No luck.

"I don't want to die out here," he said, afraid of their fate. Had they escaped all the way from Tevinter to fall victim to dehydration just outside the Nevarran border?

"We're not going to die," Leto insisted, stubborn as ever. "Not yet."

Anders wished he had the faith to believe him, but the longer he went without something to drink, the more his hope faded.

By the time the sun was setting that evening, all three of them were barely able to move. Leto stumbled forward towards the scraggly remains of a bush and lay down in the sand, pillowing his head on his thin arms. Anders was barely on his feet, and only because he was holding onto Puzzle's lead like a lifeline.

The had temperature dropped dramatically now that the sun was down, without any moisture to capture the heat in the air. Anders barely had the capacity to think to tie Puzzle's reins to the cracking trunk of the bush before he joined Leto on the ground and drew his cloak over both of them.

Anders licked at his lips uselessly. "Promise me," he said, with a quiet desperation. "Promise me you'll be alive when I wake up."

Leto opened his eyes to look at Anders through his pounding headache, and after a long moment, he nodded. "I promise."

In the morning, it was Leto who woke first, and found to his horror that Puzzle was nowhere in sight. The knot Anders had tied couldn't've have been particularly tight, not with the fraying rope and his dwindling strength. The bush itself was missing several more branches than it had been the day before.

Leto dragged himself to his feet and glanced around, taking halting steps forward and trying in vain to spot the donkey on the horizon. It no use. He'd probably left them hours ago, and there was no way they were going to track him down now.

They were now completely alone, without any provisions or method of transportation. Without a staff to direct his magic, Anders' spells would be considerably less powerful. Their one remaining weapon was Anders' ceremonial dagger, which Leto had been intending to use to butcher the donkey if the animal had dropped before they did.

Even in his life as a slave, he had never felt such despair.

Leto shuffled back through the sand to reach Anders, and shook his shoulder. The mage's breathing was shallow, and Leto wanted nothing more than to just go back to sleep and stop thinking about any of this. He knew damn well, however, what would become of them if they were to lie in the oppressive desert sun for much longer.

"Anders," he said, shaking him again. "Anders, please."

The other boy looked up at him with sunken eyes. It took him a moment, but he lifted a weak arm to reach out for Leto.

To the elf's complete surprise, Anders smiled at him wearily. "I'm glad you're with me."

Leto hesitated, then completed the motion to lock his fingers with Anders' and pull him up. "We have to keep moving," he insisted. "We have to go."

Anders hefted himself up and stood shakily beside Leto. He seemed too resolute for Leto's liking, and it was impossible to tell whether the redness in his eyes was from dehydration or an attempt to cry without tears.

"You're right," he said, nodding feebly. "Let's go."

They walked south together. Leto refrained from asking Anders to let go of his hand; it was the only small comfort they had left.


	17. Chapter 17

Leto had spent many years wondering what it would be like to die.

For every elf he passed in the street, gaunt and begging for coin. For every magister who fell in a duel, slaughtered by a rival. For every slave who’d been sacrificed, for the sake of some horrific blood magic.

For every day he’d gone to sleep half starved, and every whiplash that’d hit his back.

In his childhood he’d wanted so badly to believe that Andraste would never let this continue, that it made no sense for the Maker to turn His back on his first children. His mother had taught him to keep his faith, to keep hope. What had it ever done to help him? What good came of believing a pretty lie?

He kept his bony fingers twined with Anders’ as they walked, sluggishly pacing through the sand. The wind kicked so much dust into his eyes, he could hardly see what lay ahead of them. It was difficult to speak.

The sun burned down onto their exposed skin, Anders’ cloak the only meager protection they had from its harsh rays. They traded off every half hour or so, in a vain attempt for some relief.

Leto ran his tongue over his cracked lips and squinted out at the endless land ahead of them. He’d gone over their situation again and again, and came up with the same answer every time: they were going to drop dead long before they came anywhere close to Nevarra.

As night fell on their second day in the desert, Anders and Leto were leaning heavily on each other, each one struggling to prop up the other. Leto crumpled to the ground, making awful, involuntary noises of hideous pain. The soles of his feet were covered in blisters from the scorched sand. Every one of them had popped, and so much grit was now worked into the wounds, there was no hope of cleaning them.

He delicately wiped at his feet with Anders’ cloak and hissed in agony with each touch. The hunger and dehydration amplified his suffering. At least when he’d been a slave, he’d had shelter.

Leto hated himself for traveling during the day. He should’ve known better. They should’ve saved all their energy for night, but they had nowhere to rest while the sun was up. They were too exhausted to change anything now.

The elf lowered himself down, pillowing his head on the wrinkled, sand-coated mess that was Anders’ cloak. The mage hovered above him for a moment before he, too, lay down on the battered cloth.

Grit lined the corners of Leto’s eyes, at the edges of his nose, in the ridges of his ears. It was futile to try to remove it. It was uncomfortable, and only added to his suffering. He stared at Anders, his lips pulled back against his teeth.

“I am honored to have known you,” he rasped, unable to blink anymore. “And I thank you for... for all you’ve done.”

He shifted his arm to grasp Anders’ wrist, his grip loose and shaky. He gazed intensely at the other boy for a long while, then let his eyes fall closed.

A dry sob heaved through Anders’ chest. “Don’t leave me,” he begged. “Leto, don’t leave me.”

He caught the elf’s hand with his own and squeezed it as hard as he could. The only indication that he yet lived were the short, haggard breaths he took, the shudder of the rise and fall of his chest.

But it wouldn’t be long now.

Anders didn’t remember precisely when he drifted into fitful sleep, but then, he never did.

\------

Anders’ body rose of its own volition in a blaze of blue. It scooped up Leto’s listless form, the cloak tattered beneath him as it whipped in the wind. The sand was not nearly as hot as it’d been during the day, but still ran the risk of further damage to Anders’ feet.

There were no other options now.

For hours he walked, his eyes rolled back into his head, staring at the darkness of his skull. His legs moved unnaturally, buckling under the weight of the elf, but unfazed by any sort of pain or fatigue. He walked until the sun rose again, dredging up scalding heat as it lifted into the sky and burned down upon them.

Blue flames licked at their faces, darted up through their nostrils and into their lungs, curled down into their stomachs and through their veins. It was this ethereal energy that kept them breathing, kept their hearts beating, while Anders’ feet continued to walk on broken toes.

The sun fell and rose, aggravating the peeling skin on the back of Anders’ neck, bleaching the color from his hair in awkward splotches. Days had passed without any food, water, or rest; there was no remaining reason for them to be alive.

At long last they approached the Minanter River, and Anders hardly slowed before plunging into the water, sinking down to the bed of sediment and plowing ahead, wisps of bright blue radiating around them both. Shards of sunken garbage cut his feet, from decaying wood to rusting hunks of iron and shards of broken glass. Undaunted, unfazed, he stomped forward unseeing until they came up on the opposite bank and were finally deposited at the docks of Nevarra City.

Anders awoke with a start, coughing and gasping for air. He spat water onto the well-worn wooden planks beneath his feet, dry heaving the sparse contents of his empty stomach. He collapsed onto his knees, his cheek pressed uncomfortably against the dock, and stared out at the crowd that’d swiftly gathered around them.

“Maker, did they swim through the river?”

“Where did they come from?”

“Nobody ought to be fooling around out here, least of all a knife-ear like that!”

 _Leto._

Anders crawled forward towards the elf’s prone body, sprawled on his back and looking up at the sky. The mage reached for his hand and clasped it between both of his own, squeezing hard in an attempt to somehow revive him.

“Leto,” he croaked, “Leto, can you--”

“What in flames happened to you two?” A dwarven woman crouched down beside them, concerned. “You look like you’ve been chewed up and spat out by any number of awful creatures.”

Anders gaped at her, wide-eyed and scared. “Help us,” he pleaded, reaching for her shirt sleeve. “We have nowhere to go.”

She nodded resolutely without an ounce of hesitation and helped Anders to stand up. He winced, cursing under his breath when his full weight rested on his injured feet.

“Eema!” she called, waving over an elven girl who couldn’t’ve been older than twelve. “Bring the cart around. I don’t think these boys can walk.”

The girl nodded and ran off to do as she was told. The woman turned back to them and smiled, shaking her head in pity.

“Don’t worry, kiddo. You’ll have a bath and a good meal before the day’s over. I can promise you that much.”

“Thank you,” Anders said, shaky but relieved. “We... we were lost in the Silent Plains for days, and I was sure that we’d--”

“Oi!” An angry guard stormed up, glaring at all three of them. “They come from the Imperium? Throw ‘em back!”

The woman glared right back at him and rose to her full height, which admittedly wasn’t very intimidating in its own right. “These boys fell in the river and almost drowned, and you want to kick them out of the country?” She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “What kind of monster are you?”

“Look, I don’t make the rules,” the guard insisted, irritated. “But I do enforce them.”

The dwarf refused to budge, and she continued to stare him down until Eema pulled up with their cart.

“Reisha, we can go!” she called.

Reisha gave the guard a curt nod and went about her business, which currently involved hefting Leto onto his feet. He was breathing -- barely -- but between her and Anders, they managed to get him loaded into the back of the cart. Anders pulled himself up beside him, averting his eyes from the furious guard.

Anders pulled Leto halfway into his lap and tried his best to keep him stable as the cart pulled away, the wheels rolling unevenly on the cobblestone. He glanced at the mule pulling them along, and wondered dismally about what had become of Puzzle. Dead in the desert, no doubt.

Anders shuddered to think of it, and returned his attention to his friend. He gently ran his fingers along Leto’s gaunt face, and tried to block out everything that’d happened.

They were free of Tevinter, and that was all that mattered.


End file.
